Just for One Day
by Charlie's Mum
Summary: Completed What happens when you get to meet the person you've idolized your entire life? Can even Duncan Macleod live up to those expectations?
1. Default Chapter

The following is my first attempt at creating an original character in an established universe. If she shows _any _signs of being a Mary Sue, someone please throw things at me immediately.

All Highlander characters and situations belong to the people who created them. I own nothing and am writing as an homage to a show I really liked, and still kind of miss. And yes, I admit it, Adrian Paul is 'teh hawt'.

My grandfather moved in with my mom and me when I was six years old, right after he retired. Before then I'd seen him only briefly, as his job seemed to take him to all corners of the world, and he'd always been a rather imposing figure, sort of brave and mysterious. He would show up once or twice a year, bringing me gifts from odd places but never talking about why he went where he went, or did what he did. I was afraid at first that he wouldn't like me, but I needn't have worried. By the end of his first month with us, he and I were fast friends. Every night before I went to sleep, my grandfather would come to tuck me in and tell me stories of a man called Duncan Macleod. He would always start the story the same way. "Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod was a warrior who always strove to do what he thought was the right thing," and he would launch into a tale of sword battles, wars, rescuing fair maidens and the like,. The tales took place in different parts of the world, in different times, but I never gave it much thought. As a child it was enough to hear the thrilling stories, and spend time with my grandfather.

Duncan was my grandfather's hero, and soon he was mine as well. I wanted to be like him. I wanted to fight like he did, and rescue people, and travel the world learning different languages and different cultures. In my little neighborhood in New Jersey, however, there were few people who needed rescuing, and we didn't have enough money to travel, but I was able to convince my mother to let me take karate lessons. I started my lessons when I was seven, and to my mother's great surprise, was good at it. I'd quit both ballet and gymnastics weeks into the lessons, and she honestly didn't think I'd stick with this, but I did. It was what Duncan did, according to my grandfather, and I wanted to do it too. I got my first black belt by the time I was nine. My grandfather was very proud of me, and whenever I got impatient or wanted to quit, he would remind me of Duncan's struggles, and his patience in learning new things. It worked every time.

As I got older and began to develop my own life, the "Duncan stories" as I called them became more like morality tales, in which Duncan struggled to do what was right, to avoid a fight, to give up the woman's love because it was the proper thing to do. My grandfather would often caution me to think about my actions, and to hold Duncan up as a ruler by which to measure my behavior. "Is that what Duncan would do?" I he would say, and I would often find myself asking that same question. I have no doubt that it did keep me out of trouble in some cases. However, as I got older, and the constant reminders of doing right became downright annoying, I began questioning the existence of one Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod and his goody-two shoes attitudes toward duty and doing the right thing. I stopped listening to the stories, and, I'm ashamed to admit, started getting into trouble. I even stopped going to karate. When I look back on it now, I'm not really sure what I was rebelling from. I had a good life, mostly, my mother worked hard, but she loved me, and my grandfather was the only father figure I ever really needed, so I guess I can put it down to normal teenaged angst. Whatever the reasons, it did not sit well with my grandfather.

Not long before my fifteenth birthday, my grandfather picked me up from school, which was highly unusual and deeply suspicious. After receiving assurances that no one was dead, he told me he had a surprise for me. I sat next to him in his old car, my arms folded, feeling rebellious and more than a little embarrassed that my friends had seen me be collected after school like some grade school child and asked coldly what that surprise could possibly be. Grandfather smiled at me in his patient way, and took my hands in his, "Molly," he said, "I'm taking you to see Duncan Macleod."

We drove to New York City that afternoon, and Grandfather took me to an antique bookstore where he introduced me to a man called Joe Dawson. Joe was younger than my grandfather by at least a decade, from what I could see, but he walked with a cane, and his hair was gray. My grandfather greeted him warmly then pushed me forward to introduce me.

"This is my granddaughter, Molly Lewis, who I was telling you about, Joe. Thanks for doing this."

"It's a pleasure to meet you Molly," Joe said, shaking my hand formally. "Now, did your grandfather explain anything to you?"

"Just that he was going to show me Duncan MacLeod, which is I assume some way of teaching me a lesson, or something," I said, determined not to show how much my curiosity was piqued.

"First there is something you must understand, Molly, that what you are about to learn is top secret."

That got me. "Why?"

Joe lowered himself into a chair. "I am a Watcher, as was your grandfather before he retired." I raised my eyebrow at this, but refrained from making the snarky comment that was in my head. I wanted to hear what he had to say. "Our job is to watch the Immortals, to record what they do, but never interfere. Your grandfather was Duncan's watcher, and now I am."

They both stared at me, waiting, I suppose to say something like 'that's impossible', or 'you're nuts' and believe me I was going to but the look in Joe's eyes stopped me. He was serious. So I just nodded my head, waiting to hear what happens next.

Then my grandfather spoke. "I've brought you here, Molly, because I want you to know that everything I told you was true, that there is a person who walks in the world who upholds the qualities I've tried to give you. He doesn't always succeed, and I don't expect you always succeed, but I want you to try, like he does."

Then they gave me a bunch of rules about never letting anyone know about this secret society, and I was not to approach the Immortal, or talk to him, but simply, well, watch.

Duncan was in New York City on a brief vacation, visiting with someone who was also an immortal and according to Joe, Duncan's first teacher. Joe took us to a restaurant where Duncan and his friend Connor were supposedly meeting for dinner, and waited. It wasn't long before my grandfather nudged me, and pointed to the door, and I had my first glimpse of Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. He was wearing a white fisherman's sweater, and his dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, a look I despised on most men, but on him it worked. His companion, Connor, apparently said something amusing, and Duncan laughed, his face lighting up with a smile I swear I felt, right down to my toes. They took a table not to far from ours, and we were able to catch snatches of their conversation as we ate our own dinner. His voice was rich and deep, with just a trace of an accent about it. Every story, every moral tale, every swashbuckling fight I was ever told ran though my mind as I watched him, and I took my grandfather's lesson to heart. I would strive to be worthy of Duncan MacLeod, both for my grandfather's sake, and for my own.


	2. The subject of school girl fantasy

Standard Disclaimer. I don't own anything, I'm just playing with it. I will put it back neatly when I'm done.

"Well, that should do it," I said, dumping the last load of clothes onto my bed. "Now all I have to do is unpack and I'm ready for college."

I turned to smile at my mother who was already stuffing socks and underwear into the well-worn dresser that was crammed up next to my new bed; I could tell by her face that she was trying not to cry. "Mom, you promised."

"I know," she said ruefully, 'but I can't help it. You're my baby and you're going away to college. It seems like just yesterday I was walking you to your first day of kindergarten."

"Yes, yes, I know. I wanted you to come in with me, and you couldn't, so you gave me a picture to keep on my desk in case I got lonely and I asked if you had a picture of me in case _you_ got lonely. I know that story. I think everyone who was on the plane with us knows that story." I spoke a bit more sharply than I intended, but I couldn't let my mother get too mushy because if she did I would cry, and crying for my mommy was not the way I wanted to begin my college career.

Mom, who knows me well, didn't take offense at my tone of voice, but wiped her eyes, and dropped the sentimental journey. For awhile we worked in companionable silence as we got my things in order by hanging up my clothes, tacking posters to the wall and putting my books on the small shelf that was allotted to me. I was just sticking my photo of my ex-boyfriend and me at our last karate tournament on my desk when my mother said "I do wish you'd picked a school closer to home, though. It's hard to think of you all away across the country." She'd said this more or less consistently for the last few weeks, like I would suddenly change my mind if she brought it up enough.

"Mom. We've been over this. Grand pop was the one who suggested I apply here. He said Seacouver had the best archeological program. I'd feel like I was disappointing him if I didn't come here. Not to mention the fact this is the only school to offer me a full scholarship."

"Yes, I know, and it will be good for you to be on your own. But, I'll still miss you. Nothing you could say will change that."

"We'll see each other at Thanksgiving, and besides, it's not like you're going to be lonely while I'm gone. I'm pretty sure Doctor Mitchell will see to that."

Mom blushed, but didn't deny it. Dr. Mitchell had been my grandfather's physician, and after he passed away, he came over with condolences and an offer to take my mother out for coffee. A couple of months later, he was back with a dinner invitation, and before I knew it my mother had a boyfriend, for the first time in my living memory. I'll admit my inner child had some problems with it, but logically I knew it was good for her. With Grand pop gone and me across the country it was time for her to get her own life. "Are you sure you don't want to come have dinner with me? I've a few hours yet before I have to catch my plane."

"Yeah, Mom. I'm sure. There's the big 'Freshman Mixer' thing tonight, I really think I should go to that."

"I know," Mom said with a rueful grin, "I guess I was just hoping to put this off a bit longer."

"Right." We stood quietly for a moment, neither of us, it seemed, wanted to be the first to say goodbye. Finally we hugged tightly, and I found myself unwilling to let go. Despite my best efforts I felt the tears coming. Fortunately my two roommates chose that moment to arrive, so we had no choice but to end the hug and put on a brave face.

After one last goodbye, and a brief greeting to my roommates my mom disappeared through the door and I was on my own for the first time in my life.

Well, not completely alone. Being a scholarship girl, we had limited funds for my housing, and a 3-person room was the best deal. As an only child, I was looking forward with great trepidation at having to share my space with not one, but two strangers. Still, I looked on it as one of the many adventures I was hoping to have in this small step into adult hood. "Hi, I'm Molly Lewis," I said smiling in what I hoped was a friendly manner.

The taller blonde girl spoke first. "I'm Anne Kauffman, nice to meet you." We shook hands awkwardly.

"And I'm Maggie Stewart," The dark haired girl said, offering her awkward handshake as well. "I'm from this area so I already offered my tour guiding services to Anne. You're welcome to pump me for questions, too."

"Thanks. I'm from New Jersey, so I'm sure I'll need your guidance." We all stood uncomfortably for a moment, unsure what to say next. It was strange; meeting the strangers I was going to live with for the next few months. We could become best friends or bitterest enemies, or even just indifferent acquaintances, and all we had to go on was the fact that all three of us couldn't afford a private or double room. "Look at us," I said, hoping to fill up the silence, "A blonde, brunette and a redhead. If we walk into a bar someone might think we're a joke." It was stupid, but they giggled, and it helped break the ice somewhat.

"Well, we may as well start getting acquainted," Maggie said, plopping down on her bed and tucking her feet under her. "I'll start. Like I said, I'm from this area. My mother is a professor here, she teaches English, so I get in for free. My sister is a senior here. She's studying to be a nurse. I haven't chosen a major yet, but I'm leaning toward Communications."

"I'm pre-med." Anne said, I want to be a pediatrician. I'm from the San Francisco area and, um; I have two younger brothers. I'm on scholarship."

"I'm on scholarship too," I said. "I want to be an archeologist. Of course everyone seems to think that this degree is going to get me nothing but a career in retail or something, but it's what I'm interested in, and I don't see the point in studying something just because it's practical." That was one of the things that broke Jack and me up. He thought I should study to be a teacher or a businesswoman or something. Something safe. No thanks. "Oh, and I'm and only child." I added since mentioning siblings seemed compulsory.

"Oh, archeology. There's a good program here. Great history department, too." Maggie said. "There's a professor here that has practically every female on campus drooling. My sister had him last year, and for an entire semester it was practically all she could talk about. She even considered changing her major to history because of this guy. Of course, my sister's kind of a bimbo."

"Well, if he teaches Intro to World History I'm in luck," I said. "I'm taking that this year. What's his name?"

"Um...I don't know. I don't think my sister ever called him anything other than Professor Hottie." Anne laughed at that and Maggie shrugged. "Told you, she's kind of a bimbo." She shook her head. "I totally can't think of his name."

I got up and checked my schedule. "Nope, it's not on here."

Anne went over to the computer. "Well, now that we're all dying to know what Professor Hottie's real name is, we may as well satisfy our curiosity." She went to the schools web-site, and Maggie and peered over her shoulders at the screen.

A list of the history professors popped up, with pictures. "There he is," Maggie cried, pointing to a bio about halfway down the page.

"Your sister is right," Anne said, "He is a hottie. What's his name?"

I never thought it happened in real life, but I felt dizzy with shock. I actually had to grip the back of the chair so I wouldn't fall down. I couldn't believe it. It was him. Here. "MacLeod." I whispered. "His name is Duncan MacLeod."


	3. Meeting Cute

Chapter the third, wherein our heroine meets our hero. Still don't own anything except Molly and, hopefully, the plot.

Because Intro to History wasn't until Wednesday, I had ample time to dither about the fact I was actually going to be in the same room with Duncan Macleod for an extended amount of time. I was, in turns, excited and terrified about the prospect.

It occurred to me that my being at the same school as Duncan Macleod was less of an amazing coincidence then a deliberate machination on my grandfather's part. It was he, after all, who first suggested Seacouver as a college choice. He must have known Duncan was here, must have wanted to give me the opportunity to meet the immortal, or at the very least, watch him in action. I thought about trying to find Joe Dawson, as it was likely he was in town if Duncan Macleod was, to get his take on the situation, but then I remembered all the rules that had been laid down for me that day in New York, and knew Joe would discourage me from speaking the immortal. He might even tell me I have to drop the class. I didn't want to do that. I wanted the opportunity to meet Duncan Macleod, if for no other reason then for the sake of my grandfather's memory. Of course the fact I've pretty much worshiped the man since I was a little girl played some part in it as well. To me it was like meeting Santa Claus, or Superman, or the Dali Lama. I wasn't going to pass up this chance.

So Wednesday found me dressing with more than usual care while trying to hide my excitement from Anne and Maggie. They'd been teasing me pretty much constantly about being in "Professor Hottie's" class, and I didn't want them to think I was a typical fan girl, like Maggie's sister. I don't think I was very successful, though, because they kept offering me suggestions on what to wear and how to do my hair, so as to attract "Professor Hottie's attention," as Anne put it, which is why I wound up entering my first history class wearing my new, rather short, black skirt, Maggie's dark green blouse (that, owing to the fact she is smaller than me, fit rather snugly) and my hair neatly French-braided, courtesy of Anne. Being a 'jeans and tee-shirt' kind of a gal, I felt sort of embarrassed and even more nervous then I'd been all week. And the whole exercise wound up being pointless, as the class was so big the chance of Duncan Macleod even noticing me, let alone speaking to me, was practically nil.

After dithering once again on where I should sit (in front, where he'd possibly see me? In back where I could hide?) I compromised by sitting somewhere in the middle row, and left it to fate. The classroom slowly filled up around me, and finally, at 10am, Duncan Macleod came into the room, and into my life.

He looked exactly the same as he did when I'd seen him three years ago, the same dark hair pulled into a ponytail, the same deep brown eyes, and the same warm, rich voice that filled the room as he began to speak.

"Over the last 500 years," he said, "the world has become more and more influenced by the mass actions of ordinary people. In this course, we will discuss the issues of world history and the various ways in which the human story can be told. We will focus on various historical factors among varieties of people and among periods of time." He handed a stack of paper to the first person in the front row, instructing her to hand it out. "On this sheet is a brief list of the topics I hope to cover in this course. We'll start with Europe, since that's my specialty," he smiled slightly then, and I couldn't help but smile with him, secretly in on his own private joke, "but I plan on covering other areas of the world as well. Any questions?" There was no reply save a rustle of paper as the syllabus continued to be handed around and the inevitable cough that someone always seems to have in a quiet room. "Great. Then let's begin."

For the next hour Duncan discussed how Europe was slowly changing for the better in the wake of the Black Death that had, well, plagued the world in the 1300's. He taught as well as I thought he would, the enthusiasm in his voice bringing the images to life, adding funny stories to the usual facts and figures. I wondered if he'd ever met anyone who lived then, if that person had told him the stories he was now sharing with us. I wished I could think of a comment or question so I could have his attention, however briefly, maybe have him smile at me encouragingly and praise me for my insight and intelligence, but I couldn't, and he didn't, and before I knew it class was over, and I was caught in a press of bodies heading to the door. Thus my first day with Duncan Macleod passed without him even looking in my direction.

It was rather disappointing.

Still, I soldiered on and made it through the rest of my classes and by dinner time the jokes Maggie and Anne threw my way about Professor Hottie struck me as funny. I especially had to laugh at Maggie's suggestion that I paint the words "love you" on my eyelids like the girl in the beginning of the Indiana Jones movie. "It would be appropriate for you," she said, "being an archeological student and all."

I pretended to consider the idea. "Nah, it didn't work on Harrison Ford, so I'm pretty sure it won't work on Duncan Macleod." We spent an enjoyable hour thinking up more and more outlandish ways for me to cross his path, and by the time dinner was over, I decided I didn't really have to speak to him. It was enough to be there, to watch him, as my grandfather did, and enjoy the chance I have to learn from his experience.

Fate, however, had other plans. After dinner I decided I needed to go for a run. I hadn't done any exercise since I came to school, and I really wanted to keep in shape. I'd already checked out the school's gym, and it was all free weights and treadmills, things I was not interested in. I needed to find a nearby Dojo or something, so I could keep up with my martial arts, but meanwhile, running helped me stay in shape.

This is why I was out on campus in the early evening, running in that kind of trance you get when you're alone with your thoughts, when Duncan Macleod jogged past me. I will admit I'd imagined many different ways of meeting him, all of them showing me off in some kind of flattering way. I'd imagined besting some sexist jerk in a dojo as Duncan looked on, or leaping in to the fray to help him fight off a bunch of karate chopping bad-guys, or maybe helping him rescue some person in distress. More recently, of course, I imagined impressing him with my wit and knowledge, and having him ask me to join him in some kind of intellectual discourse.

What I didn't imagine is me being so surprised at seeing him I would not be looking where I was going and consequently run, full force, into a tree.

The impact pushed me off balance and I stumbled backwards, teetered for a moment then fell unceremoniously to the ground. As I sat there, dazed and more than a little chagrined, a gently accented voice tinged with amusement and concern said, "Are you hurt?"

I looked up into the handsome face of Duncan Macleod, my childhood hero and current history professor, who I could tell at the moment was trying very hard not to laugh. "Just my pride." He held out his hand to help me up and even in the midst of embarrassment I tried to savor the feel of his calloused hand on mine. "Thanks," I said, gingerly touching the part of my head that had made contact with the tree. It felt tender, and I knew there was going to be a bruise. Great.

He must have noticed my wince of pain or something because he was instantly all concern, and led me to a nearby bench to check over my injuries. He looked into my eyes, checking for concussion, I assume, and examined the bruise that was already forming on my temple. It turns out I also scraped my cheek, and he kindly ran off to a nearby water fountain to wet his handkerchief so he could clean the wound. As I watched him go, I thought how much I wanted to call my grandfather, to tell him that Duncan Macleod carried a real handkerchief. I knew he'd get a kick out of that. I imagined him nodding in approval at the idea of a real, cloth handkerchief, as well as Duncan's gentlemanly care over my accident, and laughing at the idea of me slamming into a tree. So strong were these images I felt the loss of my grandfather more keenly than I had since the days after his funeral, and I couldn't help the tears that were welling in my eyes. I tried to wipe them away before Duncan returned, but he noticed. "Are you alright?" he asked me gently, which for some horrible reason made me want to cry even more.

"I'm fine," I managed to say. "Just embarrassed, I think, and feeling a little far from home."

"Ah, you're a new student, then?"

"Yes. Um. I'm in your Intro to History class, actually."

"Really? What's your name?" I told him, and he looked up at the sky, searching his memory, "Ah, yes. I remember your name on the roster. Your given name is Flora, isn't it?"

I just stared at him. Aside from the fact because no one ever calls me Flora I forget it's on all my official documents, couldn't believe he remembered it, and I told him so.

"Well," he said, thickening his accent into a strong Scottish brogue, "It's not every day a good Scot name like Flora appears, ye ken?" and he flashed me that smile I remember from that restaurant long ago, "so it bides in the memory a bit."

Remarkably, I didn't melt into a heap at his feet, but managed to smile back. "Aye," I said, in my own, much poorer, accent, "I was named for my grandmother, who was named for the famous Flora MacDonald."

"And a fine woman was Flora MacDonald," he said, "ye should be proud of the name."

"Oh, I am." I knew for a fact Duncan Macleod was part of the group that led Bonnie Prince Charlie to Flora MacDonald, who then helped the Prince escape. I really wanted to ask him about that but instead I added, rather stupidly, "I go by Molly, though. It's a little less old-fashioned."

"Well, Molly, if you're okay, I'd really be getting back home."

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you for your help."

He smiled again. "Any time. Just don't go running into any more trees."

"I'll try."

He flashed me one more killer smile, then jogged back down the path. I watched him until he was out of sight then sat on the bench as the night closed in around me, replaying the incident over and over in my head. It wasn't exactly how I imagined meeting him, but at least I did meet him, and now the door was opened. To what, I didn't quite know, but it was opened, and I was determined to walk through.


	4. Everybody's Kung Fu Fighting

Still don't own anything. I googled, but couldn't find out if the Dojo Duncan owned had a name, so I've given it one to suit my purposes. Thanks for the nice reviews I've gotten so far. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Con-crit is more than welcome.

We were never a deeply religious family, so I never thought about things like spirits, or life after death much past the vague notion that heaven was probably a nice place to be. Still, in the days after I spoke with Duncan Macleod, I couldn't help but think that my grandfather's ghostly hand was orchestrating my life from the Great Beyond.

I had World History again on Friday, and was thrilled beyond the telling of it when Duncan's gaze scanned the rows of students, and stopped when he saw sitting in the middle row. (Amazing how quickly some things become habit) He pointed at his own head, silently asking if I was recovered from my tree attack. I gave a thumbs-up sign and he smiled. Class flew by, and I even raised my hand to answer a question. I got the question wrong, but he smiled again, so it was worth it.

Then came Saturday. I was determined to find a Dojo where I could continue my martial arts training, and clearly jogging wasn't the safest way for me to stay in shape, so I asked Maggie, the townie, where I could go. After explaining to her what a Dojo _was,_ she gave me a list of nearby gyms to check out, so Saturday morning I put on my comfy sweats and headed out into the town.

It was a big town, and every single gym on Maggie's list was wrong for what I was looking for. I just needed a place that had room for me to practice my kata, and had heavy bags to kick and punch. All the gyms had were some kickboxing classes and aerobics. I don't think I explained Dojo properly to Maggie. At any rate, I was walking down a street, feeling discouraged and a little lost, since I made a wrong turn somewhere, when a sign caught my eye. I read, in faded letters: _Charlie's Dojo_. I had to smile. Charlie was my grandfather's name. So, taking it as a good omen, I climbed the narrow stairs to the Dojo.

It wasn't much to look at, and aside from one guy punching a heavy bag and a couple of other guys sparring, it was empty, but it seemed, at first glance, exactly what I was looking for. There were large mats on the floor, a few martial arts weaponry on the walls, and no stylized gym clothes in sight. As long as it wasn't too expensive, it seemed perfect.

I stood there for a minute, wondering whom I should be talking too, when a young man came bounding out of a door across the room. "What can I do for you?" he asked, offering me a firm handshake and a used car salesman smile. I told him briefly what I was looking for and his smile, if anything, got wider. "Well, you've come to the right place. Are you looking to join a class, or just need a place to work out?"

"Work out, mostly. I think I'm a little past classes for now, at least in Karate."

"What level are you?"

"At home I'm a third level black belt."

He stared at me a moment, then laughed. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Why, do you want to take me on?"

"Oh no. I've seen enough movies to know what happens when a guy challenges an unlikely person's skills. That guy winds up getting his ass kicked. Especially," and he stepped slightly closer, and deepened his voice in what I assume was supposed to be a seductive manner, "pretty girls like you."

I have to admit it. I giggled. Well, he was kind of cute. "You have to watch out for little bald men, too. That's rule number one. Tiny girls and wrinkled bald men will always beat smart ass guys like you."

To his credit he laughed at that rather than taking offense. "I'm Richie Ryan. Let's get you signed up, and then maybe I'll take my chances and take you on, if you have time."

"Absolutely. I haven't had a good workout since I got here. I'm ready." He took me to the office, where I signed some papers and handed over my first payment, which wasn't as bad as it would have been at one of those fancy gyms, and soon we were back out into the Dojo. I stood there for a minute, wondering if I should take off sweatshirt. I was so used to the people at my old Dojo, I'd long forgotten the 'girl' part of being a girl, and I wasn't sure if I would be comfortable fighting a stranger in what was, basically a bra. Ultimately, however, comfort won out and I removed my shirt and began my stretching. I threw in some forms, too, just to show off a little, and then I was ready to spar with Richie Ryan.

We faced off, bowed, and began. He was good. It was good fun, sparring against someone who really knew what he was doing. We were pretty evenly matched, I think. I'm pretty sure I had been studying longer than he had, but he was a bit faster. He also knew some moves I didn't, which threw me off a couple of times. Finally, about fifteen minutes into it, he stiffened slightly as if he heard a noise and his eyes flickered toward the doorway. I took advantage of his distraction, and managed to scythe his legs out from under him, pin him with my knee, and bring my hand down toward his head with a mock chop. "Hai!"

Someone came in the room at that moment, and Richie said, "Hey, Mac! You're just in time to see me get beaten by a girl." I turned to see whom he was speaking to.

"Dun..Mr...Professor Macleod!" I practically fell off Richie and scrambled to my feet. "Um...hi." His gaze flickered over my body, and I was conscious once again of wearing only a sports bra as a shirt and crossed my arms over my stomach, feeling naked, even as I felt rather flattered at his checking me out. I mean, I'm sure it was just a standard guy thing, he probably didn't even realize he did it, but still... "Um. It's nice to see you. Um. Outside class, I mean." Now if I could just stop saying 'um'.

"Molly just joined the Dojo." Richie told him. "She's looking for a place where she can continue training."

"I promised my Sensei at home I'd continue training. This place seems to have what I need." I really hoped he didn't think I was stalking him.

"Really. How long have you been studying?"

"Since I was seven."

"She's good." Richie said, "She got me down."

"Well, I cheated, really. You got distracted."

"It's Richie's job not to get distracted," said Duncan with a stern glance in the younger man's direction, "you've every right to use that distraction to your advantage."

"Yeah, well, I'm good against people. It's trees I lose against."

Duncan laughed at that and I felt all tingly in my stomach. He had a nice laugh. "Well, Molly. Welcome to the Dojo. I'm the owner, so if there's anything you need, let me know." He smiled again, nodded to Richie, and then headed through the Dojo to the freight elevator on the other side of the room. I watched him go, then turned to Richie, who was looking at me with a bemused expression.

"So Mac is a professor of yours?" Oh God. He could tell I was crushing on Duncan. How embarrassing.

I started babbling to cover my discomfort. "Yes. He saw me run into a tree in the park yesterday. He teaches my History class. World history. I'm a Freshman. Archeology major. What about you? Do you go to the college?"

"Nope. Not the college type. So, Molly. What are you doing this evening? Would you like to have dinner with me?"

Whoa. That was sudden. "Actually, my roommates and I were planning on going to this party at one of the frat houses. You know, get the full college experience." I looked at Richie. He was cute, and charming, and probably a fun guy to date. I wasn't interested, but Anne or Maggie might be. "Do you want to come with us?"

Richie agreed, and I gave him our dorm name and number, and he said he'd come by around 9. I hung around the Dojo a bit longer, hit on the bags for a bit, but when it was obvious Duncan wasn't coming back down, I headed home.

All in all it had been an interesting day.


	5. A Decent Proposal

Still don't own anything other than my original characters and the plot, such as it is. Thanks again to everyone who reviewed and is reading this thing! I appreciate the feedback.

Matchmaking not really being my thing, I admit I was pleasantly surprised when Richie Ryan and my roommate Anne hit it off. Richie came with us to the frat party, and very kindly acted as a buffer when one of the drunken boys got a little too overzealous. Not that we were in any more danger, than dealing with very crude propositions or maybe having someone throw up on our shoes, but Richie, it seems, has a protective streak and as much as he looks like a sweet innocent kid he has a core of iron when one of his friends is threatened. It rather sexy, really, and Anne obviously thought so because by the end of the night they were what my friends back home and I liked to call a 'One True Pairing'. By the end of our first month of school, Richie and Anne were a solid team.

I was rather proud of myself.

As for me, I was still pining for Duncan MacLeod, as much as I knew I shouldn't. I kept hoping he'd do something completely dorky or cruel or stupid, anything to shatter the image that had been built up in my mind since I was a little girl, but he wasn't obliging. He was kind, and smart and, God help me, sexy as anything. If I were in any kind of decent narrative, he would have spotted me as _his _one true paring, but it didn't happen. We had a certain level of familiarity, but it never got past exchanging pleasantries and discussing what we were learning in his class. Most of the time when I was at the Dojo he was nowhere to be seen, so I never even had the opportunity to impress him with my karate skills.

So life settled into a routine with schoolwork, friends, and training at the Dojo, but nothing dramatic or romantic was happening in my life. Finally, by October, I'd resigned myself to having Duncan as only a peripheral person in my life, and once again tried to simply be grateful he was there at all. So naturally, life being what it is, right before Halloween, things started to change.

One Saturday Anne came with me to the Dojo, as she and Richie had a lunch date, and when we got there, Richie and Duncan sparring with swords. Now I realize this is going to sound completely unenlightened and Freudian, but there is something unbelievably sexy about men with swords; especially men like Duncan and Richie. Anne and I slipped in, unnoticed, and watched them as they fenced, if such a tame word could be applied to what they were doing. Duncan's technique was everything my grandfather had told me, and Richie, though not nearly as skilled, obviously knew what he was doing. It was thrilling to watch and when it was over, (Duncan winning, of course) Anne and I burst into applause. They both looked over at us, surprised we were there, then, laughing, bowed dramatically.

Anne ran to Richie and, er, greeted him enthusiastically, leaving Duncan to exchange embarrassed grins before he went into the office and I started my warm ups. Eventually Richie and Anne trotted off to their lunch, and I was left alone. I was about halfway through my Kata when Duncan came back into the room, and stood watching me for a while. This of course made me nervous, and by the time I made my third mistake, I stopped, groaning in frustration.

"I'm sorry," Duncan said, "I didn't mean to disturb you. I was watching you from the office. You're very good."

"Really? I mean..." I stammered, pleased at the compliment, "thanks. I've been doing it for a pretty long time." I cast about for something to say. "I really enjoyed watching you and Richie with the swords. That was amazing. I've always been kind of fascinated by fencing. My grandfather used to tell me..." I almost said 'Duncan stories'. "Um, stories about sword-fighting and stuff. It's one of the reasons I took up martial arts."

"Did you ever think of taking a class in Kendo?"

"Yeah, but my mother didn't want me to. She wasn't really comfortable with me learning how to use a sword. She was never too thrilled I took up martial arts. I think she had a vision of a daughter who did ballet or jazz, or at least gymnastics. She didn't mind the Kata, she said that was almost like dancing, but she had a really hard time sitting through any of my tournaments. Having a daughter come home with a bruised face wasn't necessarily what she signed up for. So, I didn't pursue the sword fighting. I figured she was suffering enough." I grinned. "So if I ever get chased by pirates, I'm out of luck."

"Well we can't have that, can we," Duncan said, removing two practice swords from the wall, "why not give it a try now?"

I took the sword, and looked at him, and once again couldn't help but think my Grandfather's spirit was somewhere in the room, nodding in encouragement. Look Grandpop! I'm fencing with Duncan Macleod! "Okay. I'll give it a try."

For the next hour I had a crash course in Kendo, the art of the sword. Because I'd been doing martial arts for so long, I'd gotten used to being good at it, even if I do say so myself. It was extremely humbling to be doing something that I, not to put too fine a point on it, _sucked_ at. Duncan was a patient teacher; correcting my mistakes and encouraging me when I got it even a little bit right. By the time we were through I was sweaty and exhausted and pretty darn glad I wasn't an immortal, because I don't think I'd last a week in the game.

"That wasn't bad." Duncan said after returning the swords and bringing me a glass of water. "You really picked up on the moves by the end." I just stared at him. "No, really. I'm sure after a few lessons you'd be quite good at it. You're a natural."

I blushed at that. "Well, I don't know about that. It is fun though."

"We have a couple of different classes here, why don't you sign up for one?"

"I really can't. I already stretched my budget with my membership here. I can't afford any extras." I smiled, hoping I didn't sound too pathetic. "You know, starving college student and all that."

Duncan looked at me thoughtfully. "Would you be interested in working here a couple hours a week? That would cover the extra cost of the lessons, and I could use an extra instructor for the beginner classes. Richie has decided to start taking some college credits and won't be around as much. Are you interested?"

Well, Duh. "Yes. That would be great. I did some instruction at home, so I have experience." Granted it was with the five year olds, but still... "Thank you." Thank you seemed a really inadequate thing to say, but somehow I think falling to my knees, kissing his feet and shouting hurrah wouldn't be a good career move at this point. So 'thank you' it was.

"Hey Anne," I said as we were walking home later, "Duncan seems to think you're a good influence on Richie."

She grinned at me. "Oh, it's Duncan now, is it?"

"Shut up. He told me to call him that because I'm going to be working for him. At the Dojo," I added sharply when she started making 'ooohh' noises. "Anyway, I'm talking about you and Richie. Duncan said that Richie was dead set against college until you came along. He's very pleased."

"Well, I didn't do anything. Well, maybe I did a little. We were talking about jobs, or something, and he made this sort of joke that I would eventually outgrow him since I'm going to be a doctor and he was just some punk kid and always would be. So, I told him I knew he was capable of doing anything he set his mind to. A couple of days later he told me he'd decided to give college a try."

"Aw, that's sweet."

Anne blushed. "He's sweet, really. I'm so glad you invited him that night. Anyway, back to you and Professor Hottie. I think he may actually have a thing for you."

I stopped dead in my tracks. "Get out. He does not. He couldn't possibly. Why do you say that?"

I don't know, it's just when Richie and I came back after lunch there seemed to be an, I don't know, atmosphere, or something."

"An atmosphere?"

"Yeah, you know. A tension. Something. You said he came out to watch you do your Cantina thing."

"Kata."

"Yeah, that. And then he offers you a job? Intriguing, don't you think?"

"No." I started walking again, my mind in a whirl. I knew I couldn't let Anne's words trick me into seeing things that weren't there. I wanted it to be true too much. It would get me in trouble. "I think he's just a nice guy who likes to help people out."

Still, I couldn't keep the excitement out of my voice when I called my mother that night to tell her I was working at the Dojo. I didn't tell her why, exactly, I still don't think she'd like me using swords, but I thought she'd be interested to know that I was getting to know the real Duncan Macleod. To my surprise, she seemed more worried than interested. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked me.

"Yes, of course I do. Why?"

"Well, your grandfather did say he was never supposed to interact with people like Duncan Macleod, there's probably a reason for that."

"Mom, he was his Watcher. I'm not. Anyway, it's like whales."

"Whales?"

"Yes. If you go whale watching, the boat isn't allowed to get to close to the whale, but if the whale comes to the boat, it's okay. He came to me. And he's my teacher. I couldn't very well run away shouting 'I'm not supposed to talk to you!"

"I know honey. I'm just concerned. I worry about you getting too involved."

"What? Are you afraid I'm going to fall in love with him or something?" I said shrilly, protesting way too much. "Because I'm not. I mean, there's no chance he would ever...I mean, there's no danger...I'm fine..."

"It's not just that," she said. "It's the life he leads. I know the stories too. He gets involved with dangerous things. He has people coming after him with swords, for goodness' sake. What if you get caught up in that?"

"Mom. That is not going to happen. I'm sure my relationship with Duncan will never progress beyond a casual friendship, if that. He's just being nice to a student. I really don't think my life will ever be in danger because of the Gathering thing." I spoke firmly, confidently, completely unaware that what I was saying was pretty much 100% wrong.


	6. Dates, Disappointments and Drama

Still don't own anything. Thanks to the creators of Highlander for letting me play, though. The plot is, hopefully, thickening.

My English Lit professor quite looked the part, with shaggy blond hair and wire rimmed glasses. He even tended to wear those blazers with the patches on the sleeves. He was a fairly good teacher, although he tended to focus on things that, to my mind, weren't all that important. When we did the poem Kubla Kahn one of the test questions was 'who was the man from Porlock'. That's fine for a trivia question but I didn't think it appropriate when we were supposed to be analyzing the poem, not some episode in the poets life that probably wasn't even true. What was worse, I got the answer wrong. I hate feeling stupid. He did make up for it somewhat when he handed back our papers on Gulliver's Travels. I got an 'A', and after class he called me up to his desk to discuss my theme. "Most people tend to chose the Lilliputians, being the most recognizable part of the book," he said, smiling at me, 'but you chose the Immortals that Gulliver meets. Why?"

'Because I know an Immortal' probably wouldn't be a prudent answer, so I told him, "I just find that part of the book interesting, and very sad. Those people are doomed to get older and older, and have all the people they love pass away from them."

"Some people would think living forever would be a good thing."

"Not the way Swift wrote it, with them aging but never dying. He wasn't much of a people person, was he?"

Professor Leville laughed at that. "To say the least. At any rate, it was refreshing to read something that didn't have to do with the tiny people. I thank you."

"Thanks for the A grade." I said my good byes and left the classroom feeling pretty good about myself. Maggie accosted me at the door.

"Guess what!" she said excitedly, but didn't give me a chance to answer. "_He_ asked me out!"

"Who? Not Lord Byron?" Lord Byron was the name we gave to this boy who sat behind us in the English Lit class, because he had dark curly hair and very deep brown eyes, and looked a bit like the poet. Certainly had the same attraction to women as Lord Byron, at any rate. Maggie'd been crushing on him for weeks.

"Yes!" She squealed, and we did the girlfriend thing of jumping up and down and shrieking happily. "Now we just have to get someone for you."

"Um...no. I'm fine, thanks."

"Oh, right. Professor Hottie. You're doing the whole 'forbidden love' thing."

"No, we're not." I said indignantly. "I'm doing the 'unrequited love' thing."

"I don't know. From what Anne says there seems to be a definite..."

"Atmosphere, I know." I was saved from further teasing by the ringing of my cell phone. "That's my mom. I'll catch up to you in the dining hall."

Maggie trotted off, and I answered my phone. "Darling, I have some news for you." Mom said before I even had a chance to say hello. "Dr. Mitchell wants to take me on a cruise."

"That's great mom. You don't sound too happy about it, though. Is everything okay with you two?"

"Yes, everything is wonderful. The thing is, he booked the trip for Thanksgiving weekend."

"Oh." I wasn't quite sure what to say. "And you're going?"

"Darling, I won't go if you don't want me to, but the tickets are non-refundable and it is only four days, and Christmas break is right around the corner, and you'll be home for a month then. Robert, Dr. Mitchell, feels really badly about this, but he didn't think you were coming home on Thanksgiving, because it's such a long way to travel."

He didn't bother to ask, either, I wanted to say, but I didn't because that would be childish and petty. I could tell how much this meant to her. "No, mom, it's fine. Lots of kids stay on Thanksgiving. I'll be fine. It's good. I'll save some money, and like you said, I'll be home at Christmas. You have fun on your cruise. Bring me a present."

Poor Mom. I could tell she was torn between excitement for the trip and guilt over abandoning her daughter. "Maybe you can go home with one of your friends. That would be nice."

Unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen either. "I am so sorry," Maggie said when I told Anne and her at lunch, "My family are traveling to my Gran's in Oregon for Thanksgiving. I'd bring you if I could, but there's barely enough room for me."

"You could come home with me," Anne said. "My mom always says the more the merrier."

I shook my head. "No, you're bringing Richie home to meet the folks. I'd just be in the way. Thanks, though."

They both stared at me so sadly, I had to laugh. "I'll be fine, guys. It's just four days, and one meal. It's no big deal."

Still, I was feeling a bit sad when I went to the Dojo that afternoon for my Kendo class. Duncan, being the perceptive gentleman he was, immediately noticed and asked me what was wrong, so I told him.

"Well, why don't you come here for Thanksgiving dinner, then?" he asked, surprising the heck out of me. "I'm just having a couple of friends over, nothing too fancy. I'd love to have you."

"You'd love to have me?" I repeated weakly, then, realizing how that sounded added, "For dinner? I would be...I'd...thank you. I'd love to come. I'll bring the pie."

Maggie and Anne were as excited as I that I was going to be in a completely social setting with Dunan Macleod. Not that I was getting my hopes up or anything. We immediately tore through my closet looking for something appropriate for me to wear, but they rejected every one of my dressy outfits (not that I had many) and finally Anne announced dramatically that we had to go shopping.

Honestly. It was like something out of a teen movie; the bit where there's a music montage and you see the three main characters trotting through the mall, with a quick edit of me in different outfits. Only it took much longer than a movie montage, and I was getting pretty frustrated by the time we got to the last store.

And then I found it. The perfect dress. Now, I'm not one of those people who were ever terribly interested in fashion, but this dress looked like it was designed with an evening with Duncan Macleod in mind. It was a knee length shift dress in dark green silk, and had a fitted tartan jacket that was, unless I was very much mistaken, the same pattern as the Macleod clan's plaid. I tried it on, and it fit like it was made for me, and the color, as Anne said, complimented my red hair nicely. There was only one problem. "One-hundred and twelve dollars!" I stared at the price tag in disbelief. "Youch." I looked at myself in the mirror again. It looked so nice on me, and it was so perfect. Still. "I can't spend that much money on a dress I'm only going to wear once."

"Look at it this way," Maggie said, "You would have spent more on a ticket home. Think of it as a consolation prize for having to stay here, while your mom's off having fun on a cruise."

"And, it's a classic dress. You'll probably wind up wearing it plenty of times," chimed in Anne. "The dress is sleeveless, too, so you could wear it in the spring. And every woman should have one expensive outfit in her closet."

There's nothing like friends to help with shopping rationalizing. I was convinced. I bought the dress.

And, ultimately I was glad I did. I felt really good about myself as I entered Duncan's apartment for the first time, pie in hand. "You look stunning," he told me as he took my coat, and that compliment alone was worth the one hundred and twelve dollars.

Then he led me into his living room where his other guests were already waiting, where I was about to have a very unexpected surprise. "Molly, let me introduce you to my cousin Connor Macleod and my friend, Joe Dawson."

I turned to see Duncan's watcher glaring at me. "Molly. What are you doing here?"

Uh oh.


	7. We could steal time, just for one day

Standard disclaimer still applies. I'm raising this to PG, just in case. I'd like to dedicate this portion to the memory of my own grandfather who did, indeed, make me a wooden block in his workshop so I could write with twelve crayons at once.

Joe and I stared at each other for another moment. "What are you doing here?" he asked again, slightly more calmly.

"I was invited. And anyway, what are _you _doing here?"

Duncan cleared his throat. "I guess this means you two know each other then."

Joe turned to him, smiling apologetically. "Sorry, Mac. Last time I saw her she was in New Jersey. I'm just surprised to see her on this side of the country."

"I'm going to school here. There's no _rule _against it, you know." I said pointedly.

Joe rubbed his hands across his eyes. "I suppose there isn't. Still...how did you find out?"

"I didn't find out anything," I was starting to feel kind of annoyed at Joe. I mean I wasn't a Watcher. I could go wherever I wanted. "I was looking for a school, I applied to Seacouver, got the scholarship and here I am." I lowered my voice. "I didn't know Duncan was here until I found out I had him as a history professor."

"You must have guessed I was here, too. Why didn't you try to find me?"

"Because..." I took a deep breath, "because I was afraid you'd tell me I would have to drop the class or something and I didn't want to. Grand pop was the one who suggested Seacouver. I figured he wanted me to...

"I _knew _I shouldn't have told him..."

"Told who what?" Duncan asked, looking from Joe to me in confusion. We both jumped. I think we both forgot he was in the room.

"Told her grandfather that you were teaching here again." Joe sighed. "I guess there's no point in hiding anything. Molly's grandfather was a Watcher. Specifically, he was your Watcher."

"He knows about Watchers?" I asked at the same time Duncan said, "She knows about Immortals?" We stared at each other a moment. I answered first.

"Yes, I know about Immortals. Sorry."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Duncan asked, still sounding rather annoyed, which just made me mad.

"And I would bring it up exactly how? You're not supposed to know about Watchers." I turned to Joe again. "Why does he know about Watchers, anyway? Did my grandfather know he knew?" Joe shook his head, and that made me suddenly very sad. My grandfather would have liked nothing better than to be able to talk to Duncan Macleod, just once, before he died. It must have shown on my face, because I felt a comforting hand on my shoulder and looked up to see Connor Macleod smiling at me.

"Well, I guess it just wouldn't be Thanksgiving without an argument before dinner," He said, sounding rather amused. "And now that's out of the way, maybe we can eat?"

I couldn't help it. I laughed. Not because it was particularly funny, but because the whole situation was so surreal, I had to either laugh or run screaming from the room. Duncan joined in; and then Joe, and that broke the tension. Connor poured drinks for everyone, (except me, being a minor and all three men being ridiculously moral) and I was able to relax. I'd made it through the drama.

Or so I thought. Before Duncan led the way into the dining room he whispered in my ear, "We will have a long talk, later."

I wasn't sure if I should be excited or worried.

Despite that, dinner was really fun. I have to admit I rather enjoyed being the only woman present, especially with two men who were raised when chivalry was all the rage. I felt a bit like Scarlet at the barbecue, to tell you the truth. Duncan especially was being very flirty with me. I don't know if it was to bug Joe, or because he really liked my dress or what but towards the end of the evening, I was beginning to feel that kind of nervous apprehension you get when you're on your first date. That kind of tingly feeling when you don't know exactly how the evening is going to end, but you know if it ends the way you want it to end, the relationship with that person is going to change. That, coupled with the fact that it was Duncan I was having these feeling for, a man I'd pretty much had a crush on since I was old enough to understand what a crush was, well, let's just say I was really sorry they wouldn't let me have some wine.

I offered to do the dishes while the menfolk enjoyed their cigars because, well, it seemed like the right thing to do. I was rather hoping they would say 'oh no, you couldn't possibly' but the downside to that chivalry thing is they also still kind of cling to that 'woman's place' thing, even if they wouldn't admit it. At any rate, it gave me time to gather my thoughts a bit, and prepare for whatever lay ahead. I was almost done filling the dishwasher when I heard my name. Despite knowing full well I shouldn't, I turned the tap on, so they'd think I was at the sink, then crept closer to the door to hear what they were saying.

"I'm just saying it just might not be a good idea to let her get too close. She'll just wind up breaking her heart over you."

I hear Duncan's throaty laugh. "You make me sound like some romance novel villain or something. You should know me better than that."

"It's not you. Molly's grandfather idolized you, Mac, and he passed that along to her."

Connor said something I couldn't catch, then Joe said, "That may be true, but she's still young, and she's spent her life hearing romantic stories about Duncan's exploits. Her expectations are way too high."

Honestly. He was making me sound so pathetic. It was horrible. I raced back to the kitchen, turned off the tap, shoved the last few dishes in the dishwasher, filled it with soap, and rushed out to the living room as fast as I could before Joe did any more damage.

Seems he was already done however. I hadn't been in the room too minutes when he stood up and said he was ready to go home. "Molly, why don't I drive you back to the dorm?"

However Duncan told him he would drive me home. I guess he wanted to have that conversation sooner, rather than later. I wasn't sure how glad I was about that. Joe started to argue but at a look from Duncan, he gave in. He did give me his business card and said "Come by soon. We really should catch up on things." I wanted to stay angry with him, but, well, he was my grandfather's friend. He came to see him when he was in the hospital, and came to the funeral, and I suppose he meant well. I told him I would, and gave him a hug goodbye.

Connor left after that, saying he had an early morning appointment. He gave me a wink before leaving, and told me "don't let Duncan intimidate you, lass." Which served to make me feel even less certain I was going to enjoy my impending confrontation with Duncan.

I stood awkwardly in the living room as Duncan saw Connor to the door. When he came back he just stood there, looking at me with this kind of raised eyebrow expression. I continued to stand there stupidly, biting my lower lip, wondering what he was going to say and feeling more than a bit like a child called to the principal's office.

"So," he said at last, "tell me about your grandfather."

I stared at him. That wasn't exactly what I expected. "He, um, He was your Watcher, obviously, although we didn't know that's what he did at the time. He came and lived with my mom and me when he retired. I thought he was the greatest guy in the world, just the perfect Grand pop. He always made me feel like I was special. He was there when I was sick or if I was having trouble in school. He would make little wood-shop things in our basement, and once he made me this little block things with holes drilled in it so I could color with twelve crayons at once. He..." I stopped. "That's probably not what you wanted to hear."

Duncan smiled, looking a little less severe. "No exactly, but it's nice to know. Sit down." He indicated the couch. "We may as well get comfortable." I did as I was told, and Duncan sat in the chair opposite me. "Tell me about the stories your Grandfather told."

"They were...well, they were stories about your life. Bedtime stories about a man who spoke for those who couldn't speak for themselves, fought for people who needed a champion, who always tried to do the right thing. That's how he always started the stories." I smiled a little at the memory. "I didn't even know you were really real until I was older." I told him about getting in trouble, and being taken to that restaurant in the city. "Grand pop just wanted me to know that, well, that you were real, and that everything he tried to teach me was really possible, that if someone like you existed, then I could, I don't know, achieve the same things, or something."

"So you came to Seacouver to find me?"

"No." I almost shouted. "I swear I wasn't stalking you or anything. It was just...fate or something. Well, not exactly fate. It was my grandfather."

Duncan nodded. "Joe told him I was here, and he told you."

"No. He didn't tell me. He died in the beginning of my senior year in high school, but that summer, he helped me pick out schools to apply to. He was so excited that I was going on to college." My voice broke, and I had to stop. I refused to cry in front of Duncan, especially now. He might think it was a sympathy ploy or something. I composed myself a bit then continued, "he did get me the information on Seacouver, and suggested I come here. I know now that was probably because he knew you were here. But I swear to you I didn't know."

Duncan sighed, running his fingers through his hair in an exhausted gesture. " Joe is worried you have too grandiose an opinion of me. He's afraid that you are in love with me, and that I'll hurt you somehow."

Oh dear. I didn't quite know how to respond to that. "You have not half the power to hurt me as I have to be hurt," I quoted, feeling rather proud I remembered that line from Othello. It pays to listen in English class sometimes.

"Nonetheless," Duncan said quietly, "I think maybe it's a good idea if you don't come around to the Dojo anymore."

I felt like he'd punched me in the stomach. I quite literally couldn't breathe for a moment. "Please don't do that. I know it's weird. I've known you my whole life, practically. You were the ideal that was held to me try to be the best person I could possibly be. But I look on meeting you as…as a gift from my Grandfather. He admired you so much, Duncan. I think he just wanted me to have the chance to learn from you, as he had. Don't…don't send me away." Despite my best efforts I felt the tears coming, and I looked down at my lap, hoping he didn't notice.

Duncan left his chair and sat next to me, gently raising my chin so I had to look into his eyes. "Molly, forget your Grandfather for a moment. What are _your_ feelings?"

What were my feelings? He was asking me what my feelings were when his face was inches from my own, his deep brown eyes staring at me with what could only be described as tenderness? Go on, guess what my feelings were.

"I never in a million years thought I would have the chance to get to know you," I said at last, "but even if I hadn't I would feel the same way about you."

"And how do you feel?" he asked softly.

I took a shaky breath. "I don't expect you to love me, I don't expect you to give me forever, especially since you, well, can. All I want is, well, just one day, you know? Just to be with you now. In this moment, because, because…" this was really hard. "I do love you. Sorry."

Duncan's thumb was stroking my cheek gently, almost as if it were an unconscious gesture. The seconds stretched like minutes as we stared into each other's eyes, and the air around us felt charged with electricity.

And then he kissed me.


	8. He who pays attention to the syntax

Standard disclaimer. Don't own anything except perhaps the naughty thoughts about Duncan Macleod. This is PG for sexual innuendo and, gasp, underage drinking.

How can I possibly describe that kiss? The standard description involves things like floating on clouds or seeing stars or fireworks, and it really was like that, but more so. It was…Imagine meeting a genie or a fairy godmother who grants you one wish. Imagine how happy, how _joyful_ you might feel when that wish came true. That's how it felt when Duncan kissed me, like a wish come true.

The kiss got me through the remainder of the weekend that was, unfortunately, spent without Duncan. He and Connor had planned some three-day nature hike or something ages ago. That was okay though. It gave me time to re-group and get my mind around the fact that I had a romantic relationship with Duncan Macleod. Well, the beginning of one. Hopefully.

I did go see Joe to tell him what happened. I thought a pre-emptive strike was the best defense. He was a bit upset and worried that I might be getting in over my head. Actually what he said was, "Dammit, Molly, you're only eighteen," and "Do you even know what you're getting into? Duncan is a great guy, yes, but he has an absolute talent for attracting trouble," and "He's one of the best Immortals left you know, that means guys with swords are constantly seeking him out, mostly evil guys. More than one innocent bystander has gotten caught in the crossfire, believe me," and "I'm certain your grandfather didn't have this kind of relationship in mind when he sent you here."

I, in turn told him that yes, I was eighteen, and perfectly capable of making my own decisions, that I am very skilled in self-defense, and my grandfather would probably support my decision, as he always did and anyway I wasn't worried about evil immortals. I'm sure that kind of thing didn't happen that often. I also gave him my whale analogy for good measure.

It went like that for awhile, then we made a sort of unspoken agreement not to talk about it any more and moved on to safer subjects. I really like Joe. I wouldn't tell him this, but it's nice to know he's around to worry about me.

For awhile I couldn't wait to tell Maggie and Anne, but by the time Sunday came I was feeling a little apprehensive about the whole thing. It was, after all, just one kiss, and maybe he'd just had too much to drink that night and it didn't really mean anything. By the time they both came back to the dorm and we were happily camped out in our room with junk food and some wine (courtesy of Maggie's sister) I wasn't even sure I should mention it, in case I jinxed it or something. Instead I listened as Anne reviewed her weekend with Richie and her parents. He charmed them, and he, in turn, seemed to honestly enjoy her dad's sense of humor. "Anyone who can listen to bad puns for an entire evening is a hero in my books," she said. "I think Richie really may be 'the one'."

For answer, Maggie threw a pillow at her. "Well, Marcus (Lord Byron's real name, apparently) is a pretty cool guy. He called me every night over the holiday just to talk."

"Good for you, Maggie," I said nodding a bit too vigorously. We'd all had quite a bit of wine at this point, "Lord Byron's a hottie."

"Speaking of hotties," Anne said, turning to me and arching her eyebrows, "You've been awfully quiet. How'd it do with Professor Hottie? Did he like the dress?"

"He said I looked stunning." This was met with hoots and squeals and prompting to tell the whole story. I was feeling a lot less apprehensive, thanks to the wine, so I gave them an edited version of my evening with Duncan. When I got to the part about the kiss, Anne and Maggie squealed again, and then I squealed, and then we laughed at how stupid we sounded, and then we squealed again. Girls are fun.

"Well, get to the good part," Anne said eventually, "How was he? And don't spare the details!"

"He is a fantastic kisser."

"Annnnnd?"

I just looked at her stupidly. "And what?"

"What else is he, hem hem, good at?"

Oh. That. "I wouldn't know. We just kissed, and then we talked a bit more, and then he brought me home." I laughed at the expression on their faces, "Sorry to disappoint you."

"You have been lusting after this guy for months, you're alone in his apartment, and nothing happens?" Maggie asked, "Why?"

"Nothing didn't happen...I mean...Oh, come on. This isn't a sit-com. I don't have to jump into bed with a guy right away just because we kiss, do I?" Anne and Maggie just looked at each other. "Fine. I admit it, I' a virgin, okay, and I wasn't ready to just go at it, because," I grinned sheepishly, "I guess because I don't really know how one goes about going at it."

"Well, look at it this way," said Anne as she poured the remaining wine in each of our glasses, "Odds are your first time will be with Duncan Macleod, and I'm guessing he's a pretty good place to start."

"That was the plan," I said, only partially joking. I'd dated Jack the last two years of high school, and naturally he eventually wanted to sleep with me, but it never felt right. I know on some level I was holding out for, well, if not exactly Duncan, someone like him and Jack just wasn't it. Of course now that the prospect of losing my virginity to the actual Duncan Macleod was looming in the possible future, it was a bit daunting. But, it was something I'd worry about another day. For the moment I was just happy with the kiss.

Monday after classes, I went to see Duncan, feeling really nervous. I really didn't know what to expect, and my imagination was swinging from him meeting me at the door with roses and champagne to him telling me curtly that it was a mistake and I should just go away. When I finally got into the Dojo it was empty except for Duncan practicing his Kata. His shirt was off and he was wearing these wide flowing trousers called Hakama. Samurai's used to wear them. He looked, well, good, to say the very least, and watching him made me think of all the things Anne and Maggie said the night before about sleeping with him, so I hastily turned away and got ready for my own workout, trying to get the naughty thoughts out of my mind.

Duncan was concentrating so hard I don't think he knew I was there until I joined him on the mat and started doing my own Kata. I'd learned slightly different moves than what Duncan was doing, but as we practiced we fell into a sort of synchronized pattern. Kata is a specific series of motions intended to train the body to react in a certain manner in specific combat situations, but as Duncan and I moved in silence if felt like we were doing a sort of graceful, almost sensual, dance. It was very hard to keep my concentration.

When we were through, Duncan gave me a low bow, which I returned, and then he asked, "Care to spar with me?"

I smiled at him. "You're on."

I'd never sparred with Duncan before, outside of him teaching me Kendo, and I still wasn't very good that. Finally I had the chance to show him what I _could_ do. We bowed again, and I started off with a basic roundhouse kick that he sidestepped easily and countered with a jumping side kick. I blocked that and countered with an elbow strike. I kept remembering what Joe said about me being in danger because I was with Duncan, and I think I wanted to prove I could hold my own in a fight, so I didn't hold back at all, and eventually Duncan didn't either. We fought seriously, with Duncan offering the occasional suggestion, but mostly just countering my moves. He stayed purely defensive, and it was rarely that I got past his guard, but I did it enough times to be rather pleased with myself when I did. Finally he managed to get behind me, wrapping his arm around my neck. It's one of the first moves I learned, and I flipped him, well, if not easily then effectively. Unfortunately I didn't get down in time to pin him (the two ending moves, my instructor used to say, is to immobilize your opponent, or run like hell) and he swept my feet out from under me. In one swift movement he had me pinned under his body, with one hand holding my hands above my head. His face was once again inches from my own, his body pressed against mine. I knew I could probably get out of the hold but face it. Who'd want to? We stayed like that for a moment, our breathing ragged, gazing into each other's eyes. "Good fight," He said finally, and kissed me again, a long lingering kiss, and I knew then my fears were groundless. Duncan and I were, well, whatever we were for now and I was happy.

I was also still pinned to the ground, my hands trapped above my head, I couldn't move, and wasn't sure I wanted to, but I did eventually say, "Are you ever going to let me go?"

And he smiled at me and said "No."


	9. It came upon a midnight

Standard Disclaimer. _Thanks to everyone who reviewed so far! It is so nice to know someone is actually looking at what I've written. I did want to respond to chrisrp, but you posted anonymously, so I couldn't. You made a very good point, and I have to say I do agree with you. But, since I've already committed myself to making it a romantic rather than mentoring relationship, I'll just have to see where it goes. (When planning this story I think a little bit of self-insertion slipped in. Would I want a romantic relationship with Duncan? Um…Yeah.) At any rate, thanks for the con-crit. I really appreciate it. _

As much as I wanted to, I couldn't spend all my time over the next few weeks with Duncan. My first semester of college was ending and with finals approaching I needed to buckle down and get studying; especially since Professor Leville was _still_ asking stupid and pointless trivia questions. I needed to make sure I read every footnote in our book if I wanted to get a decent grade on that test. I would, of course, see Duncan in class and sometimes on campus, but as Anne pointed out, dating a professor is probably against the rules, especially since I was his student, so it was all kept fairly casual. We still had moments at the Dojo, and he took me for dinner a couple of times, but overall the relationship didn't change that much from what it was before 'The Kiss'. I tried not to let it worry me. I told Duncan I didn't expect anything from him, and I mostly meant it, but made things like shopping for his Christmas present especially difficult. I didn't want to go for anything too sentimental that might scare him off, but I didn't want to get anything too boring, either.

Anne, Maggie and I took another movie montage trip to the mall, since we all three had men to buy for. Maggie was in a similar predicament to mine, as she and Lord...Marcus hadn't been dating that long, and she didn't want to scare him off, either. Anne, on the other hand, knew exactly how Richie felt about her, and wasn't afraid of scaring him off with anything mushy. So naturally she bought him a coffee table book about motorcycles. Maggie eventually settled for a fake bar sign that had "Free Beer" written in neon blue lettering; she said it would look nice in his room at the frat house. And that left me. It's hard to buy something for a man who's lived for over 400 years. He pretty much has everything. I was beginning to really hate the mall when I finally found something in one of those kiosks they put up during the holiday seasons. I'd passed it a couple of times, not really giving it too much of a glance because it was just plants, and plants were boring, but eventually I went to have a closer look out of sheer desperation. It turns out the kiosk sold little bonsai trees, bamboo in pretty vases, little Buddha statues and things like that.

"Hey, this is a good place; you said Duncan was really interested in Japanese things," Maggie said, picking up a Buddha statue and looking at the price. "We could have stopped here first thing."

"Thanks," I said dryly, "Rub it in why don't you." The stall was run buy a small but muscular looking Asian man. He had one of those big mustaches, and looked kind of how I pictured Genghis Kahn would look. Only Genghis Kahn wouldn't be asking me politely if I needed any assistance. "I'm looking for something for a guy. He's into art and antiques and, um, Japanese things."

The man smiled at me and offered to show me some wall scrolls. "They are hand painted and hand crafted," he said in a smooth voice, opening a cabinet below the kiosk and pulling out a scroll that he unrolled and showed to me. "The calligraphy is painted on rice paper, and is bound to wooden scroll rods with, as you can see, brocade paper around the edges."

It was really pretty, and looked just like something Duncan would like. "What does the symbol mean?" I asked.

"It means long life."

I almost laughed out loud. Could that be more perfect? Better still, it only cost twenty dollars, so I wasn't going into debt. A Christmas miracle.

Next came the question of _when _I would give it to him. Like I said, with finals and things, I didn't have that much free time, and I was leaving the day after classes ended. So, when he told me to wait for him after class because he had something he wanted to ask me, I was pleased. I was even more pleased when it turned out he wanted to take me to this exhibit that was happening the evening before I had to leave. "It's an exhibit of a recent archeological findings in Greece that I think you might find interesting," he said as he packed up his books.

"I'd love to," I said happily. "And if anyone from school sees us together we can say it's a field trip." He smiled, but then his face tensed, and I saw him reach under his desk where I knew he kept his sword. "Duncan, what..." before I could finish a man came sauntering into the room, and I gave a little gasp of surprise. "It's Genghis Kahn!"

Duncan looked at me, "What?"

"From the mall. He runs a mall stall." I relaxed, figuring anyone who ran a mall stall couldn't be dangerous. Duncan, however, didn't seem to think the same, and gently pushed me behind him as the man came forward.

"I'm looking for the one they call The Highlander."

"I'm Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod." I noticed his accent deepened when he said that. "Who are you?"

"My name is not important. You can call me the Executioner."

I couldn't help but give a little snort of laughter. They both turned to me. "I'm sorry. That's like a wrestler's name. It's like you should say 'let's get ready to rumble', or something."

"Flora, leave now." Duncan said sharply. I raised my eyebrow at his use of my given name, and turned to go, but Genghis stopped me.

"No. She doesn't have to leave. I simply wanted to give you fair warning that I am here, and I _will_ be coming for you." He looked at me, "Perhaps you should give him the present sooner rather than later." He bowed formally then left, his air of menace slightly lessened by the fact he tripped on the top step right before the door.

"Way to ruin my surprise," I said, then noticed Duncan wasn't smiling. "What?"

"Molly, this is not a joke, it's not a television show. The game is serious. Deadly serious."

"He works in the mall. How threatening can he be?"

"Do you honestly think that matters? This is the Gathering, Molly. It is always threatening."

Duncan looked so fierce, I felt really horrible for being so glib. "I'm sorry. I just wasn't thinking, I guess. It's hard for me to remember it's real, that you're well, immortal. To me you're just Duncan. I'll be careful, I promise."

He came around the desk and gave me a quick hug. "Good."

"Why did you call me Flora?"

"So you would know I was serious." We started walking out of the classroom. "You're right, though. He did sound like a bit like a wrestler."

After that, with finals, and studying and everything, Genghis Kahn slipped to the back of my mind.

I was particularly excited about the exhibit for several reasons, not the least of which was I got to wear my green dress again. The night started out wonderfully. I met Duncan at his apartment, where we exchanged presents. He loved the picture, and he gave me a beautiful silver necklace with a Celtic knot charm. Then we took an actual limo to the show, which was mad romantic.

The exhibit itself was really interesting, and Duncan introduced me to the man who headed the expedition, Dr. Anthony Cartwright. He was a tall man who looked to be in his early forties, and was kind enough to answer my questions about what it was really like being an archeologist, and what my odds were of actually finding a lucrative job in the profession when I graduated.

"Well, I don't want to get your hopes up young lady. It is a very hard field to get into with any degree of success, but if you are willing to work for almost no pay, and take any internships that might come along, you may have a chance."

"Oh I totally understand that. I know it's hard, that's why most people think I picked a stupid major, but I don't care. It's what I've wanted to do since I was ten years old."

"Indiana Jones?" Dr. Cartwright asked, smiling

I nodded. "Indiana Jones."

"I'll tell you what. I'll keep you in mind, and if we need a 'gal Friday' on my next trip, I'll let you know."

"Would you really? Wow." I was thrilled. "Thank you. I'd work really hard." I wasn't sure if he was really serious, but before he left he took my cell phone number, so that was a good sign. He and Duncan shook hands then he moved off to speak to the other guests and I spent the next half hour gushing over the fact I might actually have the chance to go on a real dig. "How do you know him, anyway?"

"He's an old friend."

"Old, old?"

Duncan grinned. "I'm not at liberty to say."

"You're no fun."

It happened right outside Duncan's apartment. The limo had just driven off, and Duncan started to say he would take me home when the expression on his face hardened, and he reached into his coat for his sword. "Is it Genghis?" I whispered, but he just glared at me.

"Flora, go inside," he handed me his keys. "Go straight upstairs, and don't open the door for anyone but me."

"I wouldn't..."

"Go!"

I turned and ran into the building, not even pausing to watch him disappear down the street. I wanted him to know I could follow directions. It wasn't until I got into his apartment and paced around aimlessly for a few minutes did the fear hit me.

In all the stories I'd heard about him, Duncan was _always_ the victor, always emerged triumphantly from the battle, but as I stood there in his darkened apartment it I realized that I had no guarantee he would win this time. This wasn't a story told to me at bedtime, it was really happening and I didn't know how it was going to end.

"There can be only one." I whispered, feeling suddenly very alone.


	10. Pillow Talk

Standard disclaimer. Rated for implications of sexual activity. Ooooohhhhh….

It felt like I'd been waiting for hours, but in reality it was only about forty minutes later that I heard the elevator start to rise. I stood in the middle of the floor facing the door, all kinds of horrible thoughts running through my mind. Was it Ghingas, coming to see what kind of things Duncan left behind? Was it Joe, looking coming to tell me Duncan lost? What would I do if Duncan really was gone? After an eternity of a few seconds the elevator stopped and I heard his voice call out to me to open the door. I ran to the door, nearly weeping with relief, struggled clumsily with the lock and prepared to throw myself into Duncan's arms.

One look at him stopped me though. He looked exhausted; his shirt torn in several places and flecked with dried blood. It was the first real evidence I'd ever had of Duncan's immortality, and I have to admit I felt kind of strange looking at the healthy flesh peeking through the ragged fabric of his shirt where a sword had obviously struck him. Something of my feelings must have shown in my face because Duncan smiled tiredly and said, "Is it too much for you, Molly? Do you wish to leave now?"

There are moments in life when words just don't do justice to feelings, and this was one of those times. What I wanted to say was that yes, it was weird knowing that he couldn't die, knowing that just moments ago he actually cut the head off of someone, but that I could handle it, and I wanted to be there for him, to comfort him and let him know he was still alive, still human, but I could think of no proper words to convey exactly what I meant. So instead I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him as tightly as I could. He kissed the top of my head, and, when I looked up at him, kissed my lips.

I've read books where kisses were described as raw, but I never understood that before this moment. Duncan's kiss was full of raw emotion: pain, exhilaration, hunger, lust, maybe even a little bit of love. It was an overwhelming yet wonderful sensation, and I gave myself to it completely, making no protest as Duncan lifted me gently in his arms and carried me off to his bedroom.

There was a moment of disorientation the next morning when I woke up and found myself in a tangle of silk sheets with Duncan's warm body next to mine. I lay there a few moments, mulling over what had happened, trying to see if I felt any differently now that I was officially a woman. I rolled over on my side and watched Duncan as he slept, snoring slightly, and couldn't stop the smile from spreading across my face. I felt pretty darned cheerful, I can tell you, at least until reality sunk in and I realized my hair was a mess and my breath was probably stale and I had to go to the bathroom. I leapt from the bed, trying very hard not to make any noise, so naturally I tripped over my shoes on the way to the bathroom and banged into the dresser so hard the mirror rattled. When I finally managed to get into the bathroom I accidentally spilled half the contents of Duncan's medicine cabinet into the sink while looking for the toothpaste, and had to use my finger as a toothbrush since I sure wasn't prepared for this little sleepover. I did the best I could with my hair, and headed back to the bedroom so I could be there looking winsome when Duncan woke up.

Except he was already awake. "Good morning," He said, grinning. "How are you feeling?"

"Wonderful." I jumped back into the warm bed and snuggled up to him. "It is cold in your apartment in the mornings, do you realize that?"

"Sorry" He smiled again, and pulled the comforter up around my shoulders. "Molly, I want to talk to you seriously for a moment about what happened last night."

For a second I thought he was talking about what he and I had done, but then I realized he meant with the challenge. "Now?"

"Well, it didn't seem to come up in conversation before."

I blushed. "Well, okay."

"I want to thank you for not arguing with me when I told you to leave."

"Well, I'm not stupid, Duncan. You told me you might have to do that, and you did."

"I wish that hadn't happened, though. I didn't want you to see that part of my life."

"Well, I'm glad I did." I thought of telling him how frightened I was he wasn't going to come back, but then I decided he didn't need to hear that. "Now I know I can handle it."

"There may be times where I won't be able to tell you things, if it involves other immortals. Can you handle that, too?"

"I told you already, I'll take whatever you're willing to give, and I won't ask for anything more. I'm just happy to be here with you now."

He kissed me gently on my forehead. In anyone else it might have been condescending, but with him it was quite sweet. It made me feel safe. We lay there for about a half hour, just talking about other, less serious things, and I was just about to suggest breakfast when Duncan got that look on his face that I already associated with him sensing another immortal.

"Not another one," I moaned. "Don't you get a day off?"

"It's probably Richie, but I'd better check. You stay put, okay?" He slipped out of bed and into a pair of sweatpants, picked up his sword and headed out of the room, leaving me to ponder the fact he just let it slip that Richie was an immortal.

A few minutes later I heard a murmur of male voices, but no sounds of clashing steel. Still, I was feeling kind of exposed, lying naked in bed while there was a stranger just outside the door, and I decided to get dressed, leading me to my next difficulty.

My silk dress was crumpled in a heap at the foot of the bed, mute testimony to last night's adventures. It was rather wrinkled, and the idea of wearing a silk dress on a chilly morning just didn't appeal. I wrapped the comforter around me like a cloak and rooted in Duncan's closet until I found a white sweatshirt that reached almost to my knees. At least I didn't feel quite so exposed anymore.

Duncan was still talking to whoever it was and, my curiosity getting the better of me, I crept to the door to peek at Duncan's guest.

Duncan was speaking"…I didn't think you and Cassandra were on speaking terms."

"That doesn't mean I can't worry about her, and I don't like to see her trapped like this." The speaker sounded English, and pissed off.

"I'm not sure she would forgive our interference, either," Duncan said, "You know how stubborn she is, and she is perfectly capable of taking care of herself."

"I know…" I must have made a noise because the English guy stopped speaking. "Do you have someone here with you?"

I figured that was my cue, so I stepped out of the bedroom, hoping I looked cute in the sweatshirt and not like a complete dork. "Hi." I waved.

Duncan looked a little chagrined, but rallied nicely and came over to stand next to me as he made the introductions. "Molly, this is Adam Pierson. Adam, this is Molly Lewis."

Adam He nodded his hello, and we stood there for a moment, unsure what to do next. "Um, I'll just go…I'll make some coffee, why don't I?" I said, and made my escape.

As I trotted off to the kitchen I heard that Adam guy whisper, "Good lord, Duncan, what is she, twelve?" Huh. I would have said something witty and scathing, if I could think of anything. As it was I just pretended I hadn't heard, and busied myself with the coffee, trying to act like it was perfectly natural for me to be standing, half-naked, in Duncan's kitchen.

"Molly, what time does your plane leave?" Duncan asked, rather abruptly, I thought.

"Um, six."

"Are you packed already?"

Was he trying to get rid of me? "Yes," I answered cautiously, "why?"

"I thought I would drive you to the airport." He looked over at his friend. "It looks like I'll be taking a trip of my own over the holidays."

"Thank you, Duncan," Adam said, and I could hear the relief in his voice.

Adam stayed to breakfast, and I tried not to let it annoy me. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but I wanted Duncan to myself. I also was dying to ask where they were going, but after the conversation Duncan and I had that morning, I didn't dare. Adam eventually caught my psychic messages, and offered to go to my dorm and get my suitcase, since I didn't have any appropriate clothes with me. I liked him a lot better after that.

The rest of the day flew by. Adam brought my stuff, then kindly left Duncan and me alone to enjoy our remaining hours together. We had fun. We did silly things, like playing Trivial Pursuit (he totally beat me, of course) and curling up on the couch to watch an old movie. We talked and, well, did other things, and pretty soon we were headed toward the airport and a month of separation.

Duncan took me as far as he could, which, in this day and age isn't very far, and we said our goodbyes. "Be careful, wherever you're going," I told him, trying to keep my voice light.

"I'll be fine. You take care of yourself. Have fun with your mother and your friends. Enjoy your holiday."

"Will you…" I wanted to ask him if he would call, or at least email, but I was afraid it would be too pushy. "Will I hear from you, do you think?"

"I'm not sure where I'll be, but I'll try."

"Duncan…" Oh what the hell. "I'll miss you."

"And I you, Flora. But I'll see you soon," He kissed me lightly. "that I can promise."

I smiled. "You used my given name."

"I want you to know I'm serious." With that he left me waiting happily in the security line, my mind pleasantly occupied with thoughts of Duncan, not worrying about the future at all.

But I should have been.


	11. Out of sight, out of mind?

Standard Disclaimer. Hey, Laurakkc, good point about Duncan and the 'deflowering', but it was important because of what is going to happen later, and I hope I addressed the issue in this chapter, at least a little bit. Thanks for the con-crit! I hope everyone is continuing to enjoy this story.

I wonder if everyone feels weird coming home after their first semester of college. It had only been a couple of months, after all, but it felt longer. Everything in my town seemed smaller, somehow, and I had this sense that things had changed, even if they didn't.

Well, one thing changed.

"You're getting married?" I stared at my mother in astonishment. She and Dr. Mitchell had taken me out to dinner to celebrate my homecoming, and, at dessert, Mom sprang the news.

"He asked me on the cruise, but I didn't want to tell you over the phone." Mom looked so happy and joyful, and just a little afraid that I was going to throw a fit or something and forbid her to marry him. "What do you think, honey?"

"I'm thrilled. Really." I said over the sudden lump in my throat, "You deserve it." I got out of my chair to give my mom a hug, and after a slight hesitation I hugged Dr. Mitchell as well. "You take care of my mommy," I said to him.

He laughed. "Believe me, I will. And I hope you'll start calling me John, now." He'd been after me to call him that for ages and I never felt comfortable doing so but, now that he was going to be my step-daddy, I guess it was time.

"Okay, John." I smiled at him, and he at me, and that was it. My mommy was getting married.

So, between Christmas, New Year's Eve, planning a wedding, meeting with my friends, and showing off what I'd learned to my Sensei, the holiday was flying by so quickly I almost didn't care I hadn't heard from Duncan.

Almost.

"He did say he might be too busy to call, but it's really hard, not hearing from him." I had confided to my best 'at-home' friend, Kathryn some of my relationship with Duncan, telling her only he was an 'older' guy that I met at the Dojo, and she offered a sympathetic ear whenever I felt the need to whine about his lack of contact.

"Especially since you slept with him."

I stared at Kathryn. "I didn't say I slept with him."

She smiled knowingly. "You didn't have to. I can just tell. Besides, I've never seen you this worked up over a guy, there had to be a reason. And knowing you, it's because love him, so you slept with him, and now you're feeling guilty."

"That doesn't mean I slept with him." I argued for argument's sake. "I loved Jack, but never slept with him."

"Hello? This is me you're talking to. I know you never loved Jack. Not really. You were holding out for someone special, and you thought this Duncan guy was it. Right?"

"Well, yeah, but…"

"Did you sleep with him?"

"Kath…"

"Come on, tell me. I want to know details of the guy that got you to open up. As it were."

"God, it's like being in a teen sex movie with you sometimes, you know that?" She just laughed. "Okay, fine. I slept with him the day before I left to come home. Happy? It was nice- kind of scary, but nice. And then he had to leave and I had to leave, and I haven't heard from him, and I'm beginning to…" I couldn't finish the thought.

"And now you're afraid that now that he 'got the milk', as my mother is constantly saying, he's done with the cow."

"No, Duncan isn't like that. He's too noble. He didn't even want to go all the way, that night, he felt like he was taking advantage of me. It was my idea. And anyway, Duncan wouldn't dump me just because I slept with him." I believed that, I really did, but I hadn't gotten so much as a post card from him, and couldn't keep the doubt from creeping into my thoughts.

He did call a couple of days later, but the call served to only heighten my fears.

"This little mission is harder than I thought it was going to be," he said, "and I'm beginning to think I won't be back before break is over." A nasty thought popped, unbidden, in my head. What if it was just an excuse so he wouldn't have to see me again? No. He wouldn't do that.

"Is it because Cassandra doesn't like Adam?" I asked. There was silence on the other line. "I overheard that part at your apartment. Sorry."

I heard Duncan sigh. "You'd have made a good watcher, I think. Not much slips by you. The problem is, years ago Adam hurt Cassandra rather badly, and she is unable to completely forgive him for it. She won't accept his help at all, and she's rather angry with me for coming on his behalf."

That Cassandra was starting to annoy me. "That's silly. She should just get over it. Especially if she needs help." And especially if it would get Duncan back faster.

"It's not quite as simple as that, Molly."

"Well, why not? I'll bet the biggest regret most people have is not having the chance to forgive other people. She's lucky, she has that chance."

"What if some things are unforgivable?"

"Like what? What could Adam have done that was so utterly horrible?"

"Molly, I can't tell you details because it isn't my story to tell. Suffice it to say there was a time when M…Adam was not a nice guy at all."

"But is he now?"

Duncan hesitated a moment. "Yes, he is now."

"Then she should forgive him." The cow. "That's probably the biggest advantage you immortals have over us. You have the time to change, to make amends." I was really warming up to my topic. "When my mom was in high school, she was friends with this guy who was dating another one of her friends. They broke up, and he started dating this other girl, who was also a part of the group. It's a bit confusing. Anyway, the first girl got all jealous, and stole the guy back from the other girl, and my mom was caught in the middle, and everyone stopped talking to everyone else, and it was this big drama, and none of the friendships were ever the same. When this guy was twenty, he killed himself, and my mom says her biggest regret is that she never had the chance to get back together with this guy and laugh about how stupid all the drama was."

"And your point is…"

"Cassandra needs to let go of the past. Sheesh, this guy is trying to help her, even though he knows she hates him, and she still can't let go of what he did to her a million years ago."

"Well, it wasn't quite a million years."

"Whatever. Tell her to get over it so you can help her and come back. I…I miss you."

"I'll tell her." I heard a noise in the background that could have been a door opening. "I have to go now. If she does let us help, I'll be unable to contact anyone for a while, so if you don't hear from me that's a good thing. Take care of yourself, Molly." And he hung up the phone before I could even say good-bye.

Duncan felt even further away after that call. He hadn't even said he missed me back. I tried to tell myself it was implied, that it didn't matter, but it didn't help quiet the niggling doubt that was still rolling around my brain.

And then I got the letter.

It was postmarked from Washington, but there was no return address. Thinking it was from the school, I opened it, and a photo fell out.

It was a picture of Duncan and me at the archeological exhibit. We were standing close together, laughing, and it was almost embarrassing to see how easily you could tell I loved him by the way I was looking at him. I turned the photo over and on the back was written a stanza that I later recognized as coming from a Sting song:

_He won't love you_

_Like I love you_

_He won't care for you this way_

_He'll mistreat you if you stay_

And under that, in scrawling red pen, was written: "There can be only one"


	12. Who Can it be Now

I was being stalked.

By an immortal.

I was being stalked by an immortal.

__

Why was I being stalked by an immortal? It didn't make any sense. It could be a headhunter after Duncan, but then why would he be sending _m_e cryptic messages? And why now? If someone was watching Duncan he would know he was out of town. It could be a joke, but who would pull such a joke? Who would _know_ to pull such a joke? Richie? But this sure didn't seem like his style. It had to be a joke, though. Who…

"What did you get?" My mother's sudden interruption of my thoughts made jump about a foot into the air and the photograph slipped from my fingers. I tried to grab it, but it was too late. "Oh, it's a photo of you, and that Duncan Macleod." She picked it up, and her eyes narrowed slightly, most likely worried about the gormish look on my face. She hadn't given up worrying that I was getting in over my head with Duncan. "You look very pretty. Where'd you get the dress?"

"I bought it for Thanksgiving," I said while silently willing her not to turn over the photograph. "That was at the exhibit I told you about. Can I have it back…" but it was too late. She turned it over.

"What is this? What does this mean? Are you in danger? I told you that this would happen. Does Joe Dawson know?"

"Mom, it's nothing. It's just a private joke. Really. It's not serious." I took the photograph from her unresisting fingers and gave her my most reassuring smile. "It's just a joke." She was slightly mollified, and left me alone. She also gave me an idea. I'd call Joe! He'd know at least what other immortals are in the area, and why they'd be sending me creepy mail.

I ran to my room and dug through my purse until I found his card. Thankfully it had his cell phone number on it, so if he were wherever Duncan is, which is likely, I could still reach him. I was halfway through dialing the number when I changed my mind. If I told Joe what happened, he'd tell Duncan, and Duncan would come rushing back to rescue me.

Or worse, he wouldn't. What if he just didn't care enough to worry about me?

No, he would, but he's busy rescuing that stupid Cassandra, or whatever, and I wouldn't want to cause him unnecessary stress. And it was probably nothing, just a joke, maybe from one of his friends. School was starting soon, he'd be back, and I could show it to him, and we'd laugh about it.

Two days later I got another letter.

This time it was just a plain sheet of paper, with cut out words and letters, like a ransom note from an old movie. It was more lyrics:

Every breath you take

Every move you make

Every vow you break

I'll be watching you.

I was getting seriously pissed off at Sting.

Oddly enough this letter bothered me less than the photograph. It seemed so silly and childish, so _cliché _I just couldn't take it seriously. I just put the letter with the photograph, and resolved once again to worry about it later.

I had too many other things going on, anyway. The winter break was ending and I had another flurry of seeing friends before we all went our separate ways, and that effectively took my mind of any possible stalker.

Pretty soon all goodbyes were said and my mom and my future step dad took me to the airport, and before I knew it I was headed back to Seacouver, and, hopefully, Duncan.

Anne and Maggie were already in the room when I arrived, jet-lagged and weary, and immediately dragged me to a party at the frat house of Maggie's boyfriend Lord Byron Marcus. The next day was devoted to unpacking and getting ready for our second semester classes, and all thoughts of creepy stalkers went right out of my mind, and anyway I'd pretty much convinced myself that it was some kind of silly joke that Duncan would explain away when he got back.

The semester, however, didn't start out so well. My first bit of bad news was that Maggie and I weren't going to have English Lit 2 with her mom, as we planned. Because there was a scheduling change we were stuck with Professor Leville again. I was a bit annoyed. I mean he wasn't a bad teacher, but he sure wasn't what I had in mind when I signed up for the class. I wanted exciting discourse on famous poems. He gives us boring facts about what Coleridge ate for breakfast.

The second piece of bad news was far worse. "Hey, Moll," Maggie said as we walked back from the school store, our arms laden with books, "My mom said that Professor Hottie isn't going to be back until probably the middle of the semester. How come?"

I almost dropped my books, but I managed to rally and say as offhandedly as I could, "Oh, he's dealing with some family thing in Europe. It's just taking more time then he thought."

"It must be killing you," Anne said.

"You've no idea."

I lay awake that night, long after Anne and Maggie were asleep, wondering what was happening with Duncan. Why wouldn't he tell me that he wasn't coming back? Did he really care so little for me that contacting me was the last thing on his mind? But what if he was hurt, or dead? Where could he be? What on earth could he be doing that would keep him completely out of touch with any modern form of communication.

My tortured thoughts were interrupted by the loud baying of the fire alarm, and, with much grumbling and cursing, we all filed out into the cold in various states of undress, to wait until the alarm could be reset. This happened once a month, either because someone tried cooking something in her room, or because someone wanted to see who would come running out of whose room, or just because it was an old building, and it happened sometimes. We were used to it.

Fifteen minutes later, we got the all clear, and we headed, grumbling, back to our beds. We'd just gotten into the lobby when Mr. Jackson, our Resident Advisor, came up to us flanked by a couple of firemen and a cop. "Miss Lewis, can you step this way, please?"

I nodded, surprised, and followed Mr. Jackson into the deserted lounge, Anne and Maggie following closely behind. "What's going on?"

The policeman spoke up. "Miss Lewis, can you think of anyone who might be your enemy?"

"My enemy? Why would I have enemies?"

"Rival for a boyfriend, maybe? You beat someone out for a sorority house?"

I stared at him. "No," I said as scathingly as I could. Rival for a boyfriend, indeed. "Why?"

For answer he pointed to something in the middle of the lounge. It was the smoldering remains of what looked, at first, to be a person, but then I realized it was just one of those CPR dummies that had been burned up. It was still creepy, though. "What does this have to do..." I began, and then I saw it. Written on the wall in red crayon was my name, and underneath were more lyrics.

Quiet fills the room  
And your love flows through me  
Though I lie here so still  
I burn for you, I burn for you

Bloody Sting again.

"There was this note, too," the policeman handed me a plastic baggy with a note inside, with the same pasted on letters that read: "I will burn in his Quickening, for you."

I looked up at the policeman's grave face, then at Anne and Maggie, who were staring at me with wide, frightened eyes.

I really, really missed Duncan.


	13. Mary Shelley's sister

Standard Disclaimer and my apoligies to Sting

The next few days were weird. The story had gotten around that some nutball set the dorm on fire because of me, so everywhere I went there were whispers and stares. I just ignored it the best I could and got on with life as usual. Such as it was.

Professor Leville was currently entertaining us with stories of Lord Byron (the real one, not Maggie's boyfriend) and his lecherous ways, and that helped me take my mind off of things somewhat, at least until he told the story of Mary Shelley's sister. She was wildly in love with Byron, while he was indifferent to her, but he slept with her anyway, and got her pregnant. When he was confronted with this he's reported to have said, 'what could I do, she followed me to Switzerland?' That story made me wonder if that's what happened with Duncan and me. Maybe it wasn't so much _me_ that attracted him, but the fact that I was so transparent in my admiration of him. That had to be an attractive quality-abject worship. However, I reminded myself once again that Duncan was too good a person to do such a thing and I put it down to general paranoia, what with being stalked and all. Still, it nagged at me. Yet another reason to resent Professor Leville's stupid footnotes.

On Friday, just when I was beginning to relax, another note was pinned to my door.

"Every step I thought of you

Every footstep only you

And every star a grain of sand

The leavings of a dried up ocean

Tell me, how much longer? How much longer?"

"Oh for God's sake," I cried, ripping the note off the door and crumpling it into a ball, "not more Sting lyrics." I fumbled for my door key, my hands shaking from a combination of anger and fear, thinking that it was time I gave in and called Joe. He would at least know what immortals were in the area, so I'd know whom to look for. I'd just gotten my door open when someone put a hand on my shoulder. I didn't even stop to think, but went right into defense mode and flipped the guy to the ground. "Hands off...oh my God, Richie, I'm so sorry," I reached out to help a rather bemused Richie Ryan off the ground. "it's just that I'm kind of on edge, and you scared me."

"Serves me right. I should no better than to sneak up on a black belt."

"I'm really sorry."

Richie smiled. "No harm done. I came to see how you were doing, actually. Anne told me what happened the other day. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Of course! I mentally smacked my self in the head. I didn't need to call Joe. Richie would know, what immortals were around, or at least could find out. I checked to make sure Anne and Maggie weren't home, then pulled him into the room and shut the door. "Richie, do you know of any immortals in the area? Possibly one who has a thing for Sting?"

"I...what...you know about immortals? Did Duncan tell you?"

"Yes, I know about immortals, and no he didn't tell me. I'll explain later. I just need to know."

"Well, I have felt a presence a couple of times on campus, but I never saw the guy. Why?"

"Didn't Anne tell you what was written on the wall?"

"She just said it was some song lyric..."

I told him about the line that mentioned a Quickening, and showed him the other notes. He read them then handed them back to me, looking very somber.

"Does Duncan know about this?"

"Well, no. I haven't heard from him, so I assume he's still off somewhere remote. Incommunicado"

"No he isn't. He's in Paris. I spoke to him a couple of days ago."

I felt like all the air squeezed from my lungs, and I sat down heavily on my bed. "Paris? How long has he been there?"

"I'm not sure, a couple of weeks, I think."

He didn't call me. He was in Paris, where I'm pretty sure they have things like phones and computers, and he didn't contact me at all. Some weirdo is stalking me, and Duncan is in Paris and he didn't call.

"Look, Molly, I think you need to tell Duncan about this right away. I have his number, we can call him now..."

"No."

"Molly..."

"No! I'll tell him if I see him. It's no big deal. It's probably just someone's idea of a joke. And besides, I don't need Duncan Macleod to rescue me."

"Well, I'll check around, see if I can find the immortal who's doing this."

"Thanks."

Richie shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I'm sure he's going to call you. I don't think he's been in Paris long. He probably hasn't had time."

"He called you."

"Yeah, but..."

"Richie, I really appreciate your help, but it's been a bad week, and I just want to be alone for a few minutes, okay?"

He looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn't. "Just call me if you need me, okay?"

"Okay."

I sat there for awhile, as the room darkened around me. I was supposed to meet Anne and Maggie at the dining hall, but I wasn't in the mood for food. Or people. He didn't call me. He never felt for me the way I did for him. I knew that, but I thought I could handle it. I couldn't. I wanted him to love me like I loved him, but he didn't. I was just a girl. I was just...Mary Shelley's sister, whatever her name was. I was a diversion. I told him I would accept whatever he felt he could give, but I was wrong. I couldn't accept it, it hurt like hell. Still, I couldn't sit around wallowing in pity, I had to do something. I threw on some sweats and went to the park, hoping a good run would clear out my head.

In retrospect, running alone in a darkened park is a stupid thing to do when you're being stalked.

The attack happened quickly. I had stopped to get a drink of water when someone grabbed me around my neck. Once again I let instinct take over, and I grabbed my assailant's arm by the elbow, stomped on his foot, hit him in the groin with my free hand, twisted out of his grip and threw him onto the ground. Thinking the 'run like hell' option was better in this case then trying to immobilize someone who may well be an immortal, I turned to run, only to be punched in the temple by another guy. I fell to the ground, dazed, but managed to roll onto my back and kick at his knee, which, to my surprise and horror, cracked. He fell to the ground, groaning. I lept to my feet, gave the first guy, who was back on his feet a front kick to his stomach, then ran faster than I think I'd ever run in my whole life, terrified that they were still behind me, and didn't stop until I saw the welcome lights of the campus.

Anne and Maggie were all concern when I stumbled into the dorm. My head, where the guy had hit me, was already developing a bruise, and I'd scraped my knees and my hands when I fell. "You should see the other guys," I joked as Anne tended to my wounds, but they weren't amused.

"What were you thinking, going out alone?" Maggie scolded. "You could have been killed."

"I can defend myself just fine, and anyway, I don't know that it had anything to do with stalker boy. They could have been your run of the mill rapists or muggers."

"That's not even remotely funny."

"Sorry Maggie. Ouch."

"It's just iodine, you big baby," Anne said. "Richie told me you were kind of upset about Duncan."

"Oh he did, did he."

"He's just concerned about you. Everybody is."

Not everybody, I thought.

After my wounds were tended to, I gave Anne and Maggie a blow by blow account of my attack, and I have to admit I was rather pleased with myself. I'd never had to use my self-defense skills in a real situation before, and it was nice to know I could actually do it. By the end of the evening I was looking upon it as an adventure. I'd even convinced myself the attack was coincidental. After all, people do get mugged in parks, it didn't have to have anything to do with my stalker.

Except the next morning there was another note scrawled on my door in that same red crayon:

"I'll get you next time"


	14. Something wicked

Standard Disclaimers _– A/N To Lyta and John – thanks for the feedback. I don't think my story is going in the direction you think it is, and I'm pretty sure I will resolve your points, but I can't say more without giving away the plot. As for the rest of it, people do stupid things when they're 18, don't forget, and even Duncan can have a lapse in judgment from time to time. Anyway, I hope you both keep reading, and let me know if I redeemed myself at all by the end. Thanks!_

Well, that was it. I was officially freaked out. Anne called Richie, and I described my attackers the best I could, but they'd been wearing those Ninja mask things, so most of what I could tell him was how tall they were.

"And one of them will be walking with a limp." I said with some satisfaction.

We talked about it for hours. Richie said once again I should call Duncan and I reluctantly agreed with him, although I did ask him to do it. I didn't want to talk to Duncan until I saw him face to face. I was afraid I'd get all whiny girlfriend on him, and I didn't want to do that.

The rest of the weekend was uneventful, and by Monday; knowing that Richie was calling Duncan and I wasn't alone in all of this, I felt much better about the situation.

Then Professor Laville introduced something in English Lit class that I thought might be a welcome diversion from all my weird troubles. "I have a friend who is a published poet, and has kindly consented to give a reading at my house this Wednesday for my students. I would like you all to come," he announced, "and I'd would also like a couple of volunteers to come a bit earlier to help me set up." No one raised a hand until he added; "It will count as extra credit to your final grade." Hands shot up, and he picked Maggie's boyfriend Marcus and me. I was glad; I could use the extra credit.

On Wednesday, I met Marcus at his frat house and we walked the few blocks to Professor Laville's house, which was just outside campus. It was still light out, so I was pretty certain the stalker guy wouldn't try anything, and Maggie, Anne, and Richie were all going to come to the reading, so I'd have plenty of company on the walk home. Poor Marcus was limping, apparently they were taking turns sliding down the frat house stairs on a dining hall tray. It was amazing to me how stupid college boys could be when they get in a group.

"Come in, come in," Professor Laville ushered us into his house. He seemed kind of agitated, and I put it down to nervousness at having a bunch of college students in his house. "Let me get you something to drink before we get stated." He pointed us to his living room then dashed off to get drinks before we even had a chance to agree.

"He's a bit jumpy, isn't he?" I said to Marcus, who just shrugged. Marcus didn't talk much.

The professor came back with a couple of glasses of lemonade. "Here you go. I thought I could go over what I need done, answer any questions, that sort of thing." He started discussing how he wanted the room set up, segueing into some odd trivia about Charles Dickens and the readings he used to do, and I sipped my lemonade and tried to look interested. My mind was starting to wander when, to my utter surprise he said, "Molly, I understand you've been having some troubles lately."

I took long sip of the juice while I thought of the best way to reply. "Boy news really does travel, doesn't it." I tried to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Anyway, I have some friends who are helping me out, so I think it will be okay."

"So you called Duncan, then. I was beginning to think you'd never do that. Stubbornness can get you killed, you know."

"Yes, I did...what? How do you know about Duncan?" I stared at Professor Laville in surprise. "I mean, what are you talking about?"

"Frankly I'm rather disappointed you didn't call him right away, when you got the picture. It would have saved me so much time. When I left that little message in the dorm I thought for sure you'd go running to Duncan, but again, you didn't. I was getting quite annoyed, really."

I stood up, knocking over my juice in the process, and tried to run, but legs wouldn't cooperate and I found myself on my knees, my head spinning dizzily. "Drugged, I'm afraid," Professor Laville said cheerfully. I looked over at Marcus to see if he was having the same problem I was, but he was just sitting there with this strange smile on his face. He didn't look drugged.

"You were limping..." I said, realization dawning. Marcus only shrugged.

"Why?"

"Marcus is doing me a favor." He leaned closer to me and I shied away. "Oh, don't worry. I'm not after you. That was just a ruse."

"You're not stalking me?" Why was I sitting there having a conversation? I needed to run, to get out, at least get to my purse and call 911, but everything was spinning. "Why did you say you were?"

"Because I needed you to lure Duncan back, and I wanted him to be worried." He smiled with no trace of humor. "Worried people are so much easier to fight."

And that was the last thing I heard before the world went dark.


	15. Not Quite Nancy Drew

Standard disclaimer. Waving to everyone who is enjoying the story

When I was a little girl, one of my favorite book series was Nancy Drew. Not the new series, but the original one, where Nancy drove a Roadster and called her friends 'chums' without any sense of embarrassment. In those books, Nancy was quite often drugged, knocked unconscious or kidnapped, but never once in the books did it describe the absolute pain one feels upon regaining consciousness when one's arms are tied behind one's back. She usually woke up bright and alert and within minutes found something handy to cut off the ropes, open the door or otherwise escape from the bad guy. She didn't find herself lying on a dusty mattress in a darkened room with no handy sharp edges for severing rope. I also don't remember her ever complaining of being thirsty, but I was. It made me so uncomfortable it was a few minutes before the real horror of my situation hit me and I began to panic. I wasn't Nancy Drew, this wasn't a book, and I had no idea what was going to happen next.

I'm not sure how long I was lying there, panicking, when I heard someone coming into the room.

"Why didn't you tell me about Richie Ryan?" It was Professor Laville, and he sounded angry. "He totally threw off my plan."

"Tell you what? He's Anne's boyfriend. Look, I did what you told me," came Marcus's voice, "I told them she never met me at the house. I don't know why Richie's suspicious."

"Because...never mind. Just...just go back with your girlfriend, try to throw them off the scent for a little while longer. The whole point of this was to meet Macleod on my own terms, not his."

"I don't like this. You never said anything about actually kidnapping Molly, you said…"

"I'm not paying you to like things, I'm paying you to do what you're told, and quite well, too, so shut up and go do what I told you to do."

I heard Marcus running away, then Professor Laville's measured tread as he came toward me, and I lay there, my eyes still closed, frantically doing calculations in my head. If Richie called Duncan on Saturday like he said he was going to he could very well be back in the states by now. Richie and Laville must have sensed each other when he came to the so called poetry reading, so if Richie came to the conclusion that Laville is my stalker, by now Duncan probably knows who to look for, so he won't have to wait for Laville to find him and carry out whatever diabolical plan he had in mind. At least that was what I was hoping.

"I know you're awake," Professor Laville said pleasantly, "so you can open your eyes now." I couldn't think of any reason not to, so I obeyed. "How are you feeling?"

"How do you think I'm feeling?" I struggled into a sitting position, not easy considering both my arms and legs were tied, and stared at him, trying to make out his features in the gloom. "Where are we?"

"We're in the school's theatre. It's closed for repairs, so we shouldn't be disturbed."

"How surreal." My throat was so dry it felt like it was coated with sandpaper. "Could I have some water or something?"

"Certainly." He disappeared back into the gloom, and came back a few minutes later with a bottle of water that he held to my mouth. The water was warm, bordering on hot, but at that point I didn't care.

"I don't suppose you'd untie me now?" I asked when he took the bottle away.

"And give you a chance to do your kung fu? I don't think so."

"It's karate," I muttered. "Why are you doing this anyway? Why did you send me all those notes? You don't…I mean you're not…"

I wasn't sure how to ask the question, but he seemed to know what I was saying, because he said, "Oh, no, don't worry. I'm not obsessed with you, not even a little bit. I told you before it was all just a ruse."

"So all the Sting lyrics…"

"Don't mean a thing. They just lend themselves so nicely for stalking purposes, don't you think?" He still sounded like the slightly boring professor of English Literature that I'd known him as – it was hard reconciling this with the knowledge that he drugged and kidnapped me.

I was beginning to get a headache, probably yet another side effect from whatever drug he'd given me, and I really wanted to lie down until this all went away, but I hoped that if I kept him talking long enough, Duncan would find us before Laville was ready. "Seems a bit elaborate, doesn't it, stalking me just to get to Professor Macleod?"

He laughed. "_Professor_ Macleod? My dear child, I've been watching him for over a year, and I know he's more to you than a professor. You mean something to him, and I mean to use that to my advantage."

My head was really starting to ache. "How? Professor…okay, fine, _Duncan_ isn't one to run from a challenge. Playing at crazy stalker guy isn't going to stop him from fighting you. He doesn't scare easily."

"But he cares for you. He'll be worried for your safety, worried over what I might do to you, and his mind won't be completely on the game. I'll have an edge. I'll be meeting him on my terms." He leaned in closer to me so I could see his eyes glinting malevolently, "It works every time."

"If you believe that, then you don't know Duncan as well as you think you do," I said, trying to sound confident. "He's beaten better men than you, no matter whose terms he met them on. You don't have a chance of winning."

Laville was starting to reply when he tensed, his eyes flicking to the back of the theatre, and I knew that Duncan was there. "You have no hope of winning, you know," I said again, almost laughing in relief. "Duncan doesn't let personal get in the way of important, he never did. He won't get distracted, you'll see."

Before he could answer, the room filled with light so suddenly I had to shut my eyes against the brightness of it, and I heard the welcome sound of Duncan's voice demanding, "Let her go."

Laville grabbed me roughly by the shoulder, yanked me to my feet and spun me around so my back was pressed against his, His sword was out and pressed against my throat before I had time to even blink.

"Showtime," he whispered.


	16. As the World Falls Down

Same disclaimer as always. Credit goes to the creators of Highlander.

As Duncan advanced toward the stage, his sword in his hand Laville backed up slightly, dragging me with him. Based on what he told me his plan was, I rather expected him to say, "If I can't have her no one can, bwahahaha!" but he didn't. Instead he said, "Ah, Macleod. I didn't expect you so soon. Come to rescue our fair princess have you? Drop your sword, and I'll let her go."

"No!" I shouted, but I needn't have. Duncan just kept moving forward, sword in hand.

"Forget it. You're tricks won't work on me, Langley."

I could tell Laville, or, apparently, Langley, wasn't expecting that. He drew a sharp breath, and his grip on my shoulder tightened convulsively. I could feel the blade of his sword pressing into my neck and I thought for a heart-stopping moment I was really going to die. Fortunately for me Lav…Langley managed to get a grip and not slice my head off. "How did you find out my name?"

"I've got friends in high places," Duncan said. Joe! He must have gone to Joe, who looked up Laville/Langley in the Watcher files. Good old Joe. "Let her go. You've not killed a mortal yet. Let's not start now."

"I haven't had to," Langley countered. "Most of the people I've come up against had the sense to know when to give in." His voice was calm but I could tell he was agitated. Thanks to Richie and Joe, it seemed this encounter wasn't going the according to his carefully laid plan. I hoped that was a good thing.

"Let the girl go," Duncan said again, and even in the midst of my terror I took a moment to be slightly offended at that. Girl? "We don't have to do this."

Duncan had reached the stage by this point and stood just a few feet away. He sword was pointed down, but in a way that suggested it could be raised at any moment. Langley swallowed so hard I could actually hear it, and I knew that this was the critical moment. He thought he'd be facing Duncan with an advantage, but clearly that was no longer so. Maybe he'd just give it up as a bad job and leave. We stood there for a minute, no one moving, until finally Langley moved his sword off of my neck and thrust me to violently aside. With my hands tied behind my back and my feet bound together, I had no way of breaking my fall, but I managed to keep my balance enough so I landed rather painfully on my knees. "Oh, I think we have to do this," Langley said, and raised his sword.

Duncan expertly parried his thrust and said again, "Let Molly go. You know the rules. This is between the two of us. No outsiders."

"Fine." Langley sliced the ropes that bound me so quickly I thought for a second he was going to take some body parts with it, but he'd obviously done that before, because I was unhurt. When my legs were free I stood up shakily and stood there like an idiot, rubbing my wrists. "Go, now. Before I change my mind."

I looked at Duncan, wanting to say something, anything, but he just nodded at me. "Joe is waiting for you, Flora."

I nearly cried at his use of my given name, but I obeyed, and headed unsteadily to the door.

When I got to the lobby of the theatre I turned to peek through the windows at the fight, feeling a bit like Lot's wife, or maybe Orpheus, knowing I shouldn't but unable to resist the temptation. Everything felt so unreal at that point. I didn't know what time it was, or what day it was, my head was still aching from the drug, my knees were both scraped from my landing on them, and I had just spent what felt like an eternity with a sword at my neck. I wasn't thinking straight. If I were, I'd never have done what I did next.

I peeked through the window just in time to see Langley pull out a gun and aim it at Duncan. Like I said, I wasn't thinking straight, I wasn't thinking at all - all I knew was Duncan was in trouble, and it was my fault, and I had to help.

As I ran toward the stage, I heard the sharp crack of the gun; I saw Duncan falling. There was another shot, then Langley was over him, his sword poised to take Duncan's head. When I look back on it now, it was almost as if I was watching myself from a distance, I felt so unreal, like this was all happening to someone else. I don't even really remember reaching Langley, but I did, and slammed into him as hard as I could.

When I look back on it, I shudder to think how unbelievably stupid I was to do this, but apparently fortune favors fools, and the gun didn't go off, but flew out of his hand and into the wings of the stage, where it landed with a clatter. Langley and I both went crashing to the floor, and I managed to kick his sword away from him before crawling over to where Duncan lay.

He wasn't moving, and I wondered fleetingly how long it took to recover from being shot to death, before Langley came up behind me and grabbed me roughly by the back of my neck. "You're not supposed to interfere."

"You're not supposed to cheat," I replied, elbowing him in the stomach then twisting out of his grip, willing Duncan to hurry up and recover already.

His sword was still on the ground, and I dove for it, grabbing its hilt just a moment before Langley could. I held it to his throat, hoping my hand didn't shake too much. "Go. Leave now." I said, my voice coming out much more of a quiver than a command.

Langley just smiled. "You won't use that."

"How do you know?"

"You're an amateur. You're not even holding the sword properly.

Without meaning too, I looked down to check my grip.

That was a mistake.

In that one second of distraction Langley twisted the sword from my hand, hitting the side of my head with the hilt so I fell to the ground, dazed. I tried to roll away, but Langley stood over me, his sword pointing, once again, at my neck. "I'm sorry, Molly. As your professor, it falls to me to teach you a final lesson. Never interfere."

I barely had time to turn my head as his blade came down.

There was a scrape of metal on metal and I looked up to see Duncan rising like an avenging angel, blocking Langley's blade with his own. There was no witty banter, no grandstanding. In one swift, silent movement Duncan disarmed Langley then swung his sword for the final blow. I closed my eyes a second too late, and I knew the image of Duncan's sword cutting through Langley's neck would haunt me forever.

Everything was still.

Then everything wasn't. I watched as Duncan was buffeted by a violent wind that seemed to spring from nowhere, and I crawled away, terrified that something was going to hit me. This was the Quickening, and despite all my grandfather's descriptions, I wasn't quite prepared for the force of it. Lightening crackled from Langley to Duncan and he screamed in pain, dropping to his knees as the bright, white light surrounded him. The lights overhead surged then shattered one by one, and I curled up into a ball to as the glass fell like snowflakes around me.

And then it was over. The wind died down, and the world went quiet. I was probably in a bit of shock at this point, because I stayed on the floor where I lay, curled up like one of those hedgehogs, unable to move until I felt Duncan's warm hand on my back. "It's okay, Flora. It's over," he said in a soothing voice, rubbing my back gently until eventually I uncurled enough to allow him to help me stand. Then I did what any rescued damsel in distress would do in these circumstances.

I threw up.


	17. We could be heroes

Here it is, the final chapter. Allow me to take this moment to thank everyone who read this story and who took the time to review it. As I said in the beginning, this was my first foray into writing an original character, and I learned quite a bit doing it. I have come to the conclusion that all main characters are a bit of a Mary Sue, or the story wouldn't be interesting, ergo any OC that is also the main character in an established universe is going to be a bit of a Sue despite the best of intentions. I just hope I made her a decent character and the story, taken with a very large grain of salt, was a decent tale. If I ever get the courage to write a sequel (highly unlikely but you never know how bored I'll get) I will do better. And I'll rent the series first so I don't make the same canon mistakes I did in this. Again, thanks to everyone, I'm glad you liked it, or, if you didn't like _it, at least you thought I was worthy of a constructive review. (incidentally, for those who may be wondering, this _is_ how I planned to end the story all along.)_

Turns out when Laville, or Langley rather, hit me on the head with the sword he gave me a concussion and somewhere along the line I broke my wrist and sprained my ankle. That's why I spent Thursday and part of Friday in the hospital, where I had a small battery of tests, visits from counselors making sure I wasn't suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and all kinds of questions from the police. Needless to say, by the end of it all I was more than happy when Ritchie and Anne came to see me, bearing gifts of chocolate and a little stuffed bear.

"So, according to this, Laville went crazy after his wife left him, and fixated on you because you looked like her." Anne was curled up on the foot of my bed, reading the 'official' account in the newspaper. Since that was in no way the true story, I could only credit the Watcher's counsel, or maybe Duncan's Immortal connections, with planting the appropriate evidence. It seemed a bit flimsy to me, but people were buying it, and that was the important thing; especially the bit about Duncan killing Laville in self-defense. Fortunately the bullet holes in the stage floor went far in proving that claim. "God, that must have been so scary."

"Scary about covers it," I said. Sometimes I thought I could still feel Langley's sword pressing against my throat, and every time I fell asleep my dreams would be interrupted with the vision of Duncan's sword slicing through Langley's neck. "Actually scary doesn't even begin to cover it, but I don't want to talk about that now. You haven't finished telling me what happened after you got to Lan...Laville's house."

"Well as soon as we got there, and Marcus said you hadn't shown up at his house, Ritchie knew something was wrong and he ran into the house looking for you, the big, brave dope that he is." Anne smile fondly at him, and he ducked his head in an exaggerated 'aw shucks' manner.

"Laville saw me coming, though, and darted out the back door. I tried to catch up, but he..." here Ritchie hesitated, and I'm sure whatever happened next was something he didn't want Anne to know, "he had too much of a head start, and I lost him."

"Then Ritchie called Duncan, and he met us, and then he sent Maggie and me home. Not too long after that, Marcus showed up and told us where you were, so we called Duncan, and he found you and, well, you know the rest."

"Poor Maggie. She really liked him." Anne and Ritchie exchanged a worried look. "What?"

"She still likes him. And he likes her. He told her that even though he only asked her out so he could keep tabs on you, per Laville's orders, he really started liking her, and he didn't mean to hurt her. She, um, well, she forgave him."

"Anne, he attacked me in the park." So that's why Maggie wasn't there. She was afraid I'd be angry with her for still liking my almost-murderer's accomplice. She wasn't wrong.

"He thought he was just scaring you. He said he didn't really know what Laville was up to. He just needed the money, and didn't think anyone would get hurt. As soon as he realized what happened, he came clean. That helped Duncan find you a lot faster than he might have otherwise. That has to count for something, don't you think?"

"Are you pleading his case for her?"

"Well, yeah. How am I doing?"

I sighed. "I don't know. Ask me in a few days. At any rate, I can't stop Maggie from having feelings for him."

"Well, think about it. Give him a chance. People do change, you know." That made me think of the conversation I had with Duncan over the holidays, about that Cassandra forgiving Adam Whatshisname, and I realized I should at least try to take my own advice. "I'll think about it."

I did think about it, and when Maggie came to visit later that day I found I could, if not quite forgive Marcus, at least accept the fact Maggie had. He really was repentant, and his confession did help Duncan find me, so I figured I could make my peace with him, eventually.

Meanwhile, life went on, carrying me with it. By the time I was released from the hospital, my drama had already become old news, and I was doing my best to put the whole thing behind me.

And now that the whole terror of the stalker thing was behind me, I found myself back to obsessing about my relationship with Duncan. It was with seriously mixed feelings I accepted his offer to take me home; I found myself quite reluctant to be alone with him, for reasons I couldn't quite articulate at the time. I think perhaps it was because what I really wanted to do is ask him what was going on with us and just didn't seem right to whine about a relationship to someone who had just saved my life.

We didn't talk much on the ride back to my dorm outside the usual pleasantries and cautions to take it easy. It wasn't until we got into my room that Duncan said, "We have to talk."

No good conversation has ever been prefaced with those words. I sat down heavily on my bed, waiting for him to say whatever he was going to say and finish breaking my heart.

Duncan grabbed my desk chair, and arranged it so he was sitting in front of me, forcing me to meet his gaze. "What happened with Langley should never have happened. When I saw you there, I realized how wrong it was for me to be in your life. I..." he stopped, shaking his head. "No, I'm sorry. You deserve the truth. The thing is, Molly, you're too young..."

"You could say that about anybody." I said, attempting to smile, and failing rather miserably, "and anyway, you knew my age at Christmas. That didn't stop you then."

Duncan had the grace to look ashamed. "I know. Even 400 year old people can make bad decisions sometimes."

"So I'm a bad decision, am I?"

"No. Molly, listen," he took my hands in his, and stared earnestly into my face. "I don't usually jump into relationships lightly, especially not with someone as young as you, but," he paused like he was searching for the right thing to say, then continued, "I made a mistake. Several mortal friends have passed away recently, and I was feeling alone, and, well, old. Then you came along, I found you attractive and sweet," despite the situation I couldn't help but preen a bit at that. "and you reminded me a bit of someone I knew once, long ago. I just got caught up in the moment. Me...Adam made me realize that your feelings for me were blinding me to the reality of the situation. What happened never should have happened. You are, to me, still a child, and..."

"I am not a child. I knew exactly what I was doing. I've loved you my whole life," I stopped, fighting the sudden urge to giggle. "And that's the whole problem, isn't it? I _knew_ it. I'm Mary Shelley's sister."

Duncan looked confused, so I explained the story of Byron and Claire. He looked a bit nonplused at the comparison, but he didn't exactly deny it. "That is the general gist of what Adam was getting at." He smiled a little. "He knew the Byron at that time, so maybe he noticed the similarities."

In other circumstances I'd be really eager to learn the inside scoop on Byron and Claire, but I wasn't to be deterred. "So that's it? I'm just an error of judgment on your part?"

"No, it isn't that. You're eighteen. Even if I weren't immortal, I'd be too old for you. Your life hasn't even started yet. I know it seems harsh, and I know you probably don't see it that way, but it isn't right. I can't give you what you deserve, and it isn't fair to you."

"So, what, then? We just go our separate ways? I don't know if I'm ready to do that."

"We could still be friends."

"I don't know if I'm ready to do that either." I found it really hard to talk over the lump in my throat, but I tried "I never thought I would ever have you in my life. When I would daydream about my future soul mate, I always thought he would be 'like' you. He would have your sense of ethics, your charm, your kindness, but I never once thought I would have the chance to have you. The actual you." I was crying now, and hating myself for it, but I couldn't seem to stop. "It was like having a wish granted. I thought I would just be happy with whatever you wanted to give me, that having you just for one day - one extraordinary day - would carry me through the rest of my life, when I was back to ordinary."

For answer, Duncan took me in his arms, holding me tightly, but he didn't say, as I really was hoping he would, anything like: 'Gosh, you're right. We're meant to be together, what I a fool I've been," He just told me he was sorry that it happened that way, that it was better to end it now, rather than later, and that he never meant to hurt me. Words that helped not one bit in making me feel any better about the situation.

When I look back on it now, I think I wasn't crying so much for the end of the relationship as I was for the end of my childhood. Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod was my connection to my grandfather, the magic of my youth, and I had to let him go. I had to see him, not just as the larger than life hero but as a man who made mistakes, a man capable of making stupid decisions. I was crying for my loss of innocence.

Well, okay. I was crying for the relationship, too. I knew I would never ever be able to find anyone as good as Duncan Macleod, and I would probably spend the rest of my life looking.

But I got over it, eventually. That's the thing about living. Every day you heal a little bit, you get a little wiser, worse things come along to replace the thing you thought was the worst thing that ever happened. You grow up.

At the moment, though, I felt like my world was ending. "I just want to know something, and I know this is going to sound really stupid and weird, but I have to know. I know you didn't love me like I loved you but, do you think you might have? You know. Loved me, if circumstances were different?"

For a moment I didn't think he was going to answer, but he did. "In another time, and another place, I could very easily love you, Flora."

I smiled. "You called me Flora."

"So you know I'm serious." And with one last kiss he was out of my room and out of my life.

I sat on my bed, tears spent, staring at the door and thinking about what he said. "Another time, another place," I repeated to the empty room. "Another time..."

And I smiled.


End file.
